


Unforeseen

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 89,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night that she becomes engaged to a knight she's never met, Lady Belle encounters a stranger in the lake next to her father's castle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Belle didn't mean to do it.

She  _really_ didn't mean to do it.

Indeed, she simply couldn't help that the slightest of movements in the moonlit water caught her attention when she wandered through the usually deserted patch of forest right next to her father's castle.

But here she is, all thoughts of her engagement and even the Ogre War forgotten when a man's face emerges from below the surface, water dripping from his long hair and down his tanned face.

Belle stands dead in her tracks as she observes him from her vantage point between the boulders next to the lake. He moves in the water as if he in fact isn't trespassing in the only place for many a mile which is still relatively safe... the _heavily guarded_ relatively safe place.

The man shouldn't be here... and yet, he is.

The stranger's face is illuminated by the bright moonlight, and so is his lean chest when he rises to his middle from the water. Both his careworn expression and the intricate pattern of scars all over his upper body are wholly unfamiliar to her. She's never seen either of those remarkable characteristics in the improvised hospital - or anywhere in or near her father's castle, for that matter.

She hasn't seen him in the long gone days that her father's halls were filled with strong and healthy soldiers and knights; neither has she seen him more recently, when that number of men dwindled until only a few handfuls of them were left.

Grateful that she swapped her nurse dress for much more suitable clothing when she sneaked out of her father's castle for some much-needed fresh air long after her shift ended, Belle remains where she is. Equally curious and alarmed, the dark colors of her tight trousers and cape allow her to blend in perfectly with the shadows around her. She pulls the hood over her loose curls just in case, lest her unwashed hair catches the moonlight.

Her hold on the dagger in her hand tightens when he wades to the side of the lake, out of her view, reaching for something on the shore. She tries to decide if she should call for the guards manning the walls several hundreds of feet away.

They will hear her in the for once quiet night, Belle is certain of that, and arrest this trespasser before he can do any harm. At the same time this will cause the soldiers, and thus her father, to also find out what she prefers to do in her rare free moments, dwelling all alone among the trees where she once spent so much time with her mother. Protected in the narrow valley between the high walls of the castle and the impenetrable mountain side, this part of the woods is the safest place she knows.

Before she can decide whether the seemingly lone man is an immediate threat or not, he returns into her view. The object he turns out to be holding is so out of place, so utterly mundane, that it takes her a moment to realize that he has retrieved a small bar of soap.

It might have been a sheer shock to see any stranger in the supposedly secure woods, but it's plainly bizarre to see him bathe there like it's the most normal thing in the world. Maybe that's the reason, the whole surreality of it, which keeps her standing as still as she is, watching him with disbelieving eyes.

It's only when he runs both his soapy hands over his chest and shoulders that it dawns on her that she's ogling a man in a considerable state of undress while he washes himself… and that she can't bring herself to look away.

With somewhat detached interest, Belle admires the way the soapy water runs down his body, his chest lithe but definitely muscular, his waist narrow and his arms wiry, all of him implying a considerable strength.

The water is clear, but not clear enough for her to see through it to determine what he might be wearing to preserve his last modesty. Still, despite the water continuing to lap at his waist even as he washes his legs and... elsewhere, she has never quite seen a man like this, especially not while he isn't bleeding at least half to death.

Belle would have been intrigued by him, once upon a time, before war and death and ruin. Whoever he is, whatever he's doing here, he doubtlessly has a story to tell that's more interesting than many of the tales in the books she used to cherish. His ever clearer solitary and countless scars hint of a mystery which once practically would have left her mouth watering.

She may have found him attractive even, with his slight build and rather long hair, his sharp nose and deep brown eyes.

But there is no wondering whether she perhaps would have preferred this stranger to the match which her father informed her of earlier this evening. She has never met Sir Rumplestiltskin, has no idea what he's like as a person, as a  _husband,_  but that hardly matters.

He's a hero after all, brave and cunning, the right hand of Queen Snow White herself. He's the only one who has fought against the Ogres and won. Aligning him to their family and village in the most lasting way possible is the best – the  _only –_ chance they have of survival.

Really, there's no point in wondering whether her unknown future husband has any of the appeal of this stranger. No matter how the man she'll marry will turn out to be, even cruelness in their bed will be a small price to pay compared to what he can do for her father and the people she cares about.

Belle does find herself speculating whether she could perhaps meet this man before laying eyes on her fiancé for the first time. The stranger whom she'll marry is expected to arrive in a fortnight, but there's no telling where this man might go until then... whether she can perhaps learn some of the stories he has lived.

Stories can be good for more than daydreams and wishful thinking when they are of use to fight Ogres, after all.

Asking herself whether this man might be of value in the war, it only dawns on her that he's swimming right in her direction when he's almost near the narrow stony shore below her already.

The true shock only comes however when he stands up without any warning whatsoever, the water considerably less deep at that point than she thought. Barely aware of the pile of what must be his clothing and belongings almost right below her hiding spot, she can only stare once he has straightened himself where the lake probably becomes too shallow to swim.

Water sloshing down his body, she finds out only then that the man is as naked as the day he was born... and that the water only reaches his knees now. There's nothing whatsoever shielding her gaze as she looks at him like she has never beheld anyone.

Belle can't prevent herself from gasping out loud at the sight of him, equally helpless to stop looking at one particular part of him, the part that's so different from her own, her breath hitching in her throat.

She realizes her mistake as soon as the sound, no matter how quiet, has left her mouth. The stranger looks up abruptly, his eyes finding the shadows she is hidden in immediately. Her own gaze going upwards, she knows that there is no way that he looks at her directly, but she shudders as if he actually did.

He dashes forwards, between the boulders, out of her view. She startles into movement as well, fully intending to get away as quickly as possible, to escape both the stranger and hopefully some of the shamelessness with which she just watched him, no matter how accidentally.

Before she has taken five steps, her head spinning, she's yanked backwards, sharp metal pressing against her throat. The arm in which she holds her own weapon is pushed away from her body, the angle painful to the extent that she is forced to drop her dagger.

Belle struggles, trying to break free and to attempt not to think of the fact that she's at the mercy of an intruder, a very  _naked_ intruder who just caught her staring at him while he bathed.

The stranger isn't impressed in the slightest, only tightening his hold on her, his body unyielding against her back. Being held by him like this, it turns out that he is less tall than she thought. He's in fact only somewhat less small than she is herself, but there's no benefiting from that. Gaston's lessons haven't prepared her for  _this._

"Who are you?" he demands, his words low and warm against the skin of her neck. "What are you doing at the grounds of Lord Maurice's castle?"

Any amusement she may have felt at the discovery that he appears to think that _she_ is the one intruding at the grounds of her own father's castle is gone when he presses his weapon more firmly against her throat.

"Answer me," he hisses roughly.

His arms are strong, his hand steady as he continues to keep her pressed against his front. His hold on her is neither like Gaston's brotherly embraces or Nottingham's perverted one, nor does it hold the aggressiveness and hostility of a soldier in battle. Not yet, anyway.

There's no knowing what he might do if he moves the arm which he has around her torso only a little, encountering the swell of her breasts. Similarly, any attempt to explain the situation will reveal to him that the person he has overpowered in the woods, out of direct reach of any other soul, is in fact a woman.

Long-honed instincts taking over, Belle jolts into sudden movement. He isn't caught off guard, like she suspected he wouldn't be, his hold on her not loosening. But his arms are still slippery from the water – all of him is – and she did count on  _that_.

Sliding out of his restrictive hold, she almost stumbles, but manages to remain on her feet by sheer luck. Her heart hammering in her chest, she forces herself to focus on the faint lights coming from the castle rather than on the man right behind her, and runs.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle has a feeling that her fiancé isn't all that unknown after all when it is announced that her future husband will arrive sooner at her father's castle than initially expected. Her suspicions are confirmed that same night, when the helmet wearing knight who walks into the main hall is considerably less tall than she would have expected given his reputation.

He may be wearing a dull and dented armor of indeterminable color, a short sword and a small shield rather than… well,  _nothing_ , but his posture is already familiar to her. Staring at him once more, in a whole different manner than earlier this week, she is oblivious to the confused, partially disappointed chatter around her when the famous knight who is supposed to be their salvation turns out to be a lot less grand than expected.

Thus, Belle is hardly surprised - but no less horrified - when the man she will marry takes off his helmet and turns out to be the stranger who she unintentionally ogled by the lake, the very one who restrained her and almost captured her once more after she escaped.

"My lord," he greets her father, bowing. "I am Rumplestiltskin, the knight, at your service."

She composes herself to the best of her abilities when her father speaks words of welcome, trying to determine whether her fiancé recognizes her. There's no sign of it, but then again, she likes to think that she doesn't betray that she recognizes  _him_ , either.

"My lady," he says, turning to her and kneeling at her feet. Only now she notices that his dark hair is streaked with gray, that deep lines surround his grim eyes and mouth. He's older than she thought, more reticent, but any of those discoveries fail to compare to her relief that there's still no light of recognition in his stern expression. "I am at your service."

Whatever he thinks or feels now that he has laid eyes for the first time on the woman he is to marry, Sir Rumpelstiltskin doesn't show it.

Belle finds herself giving the appropriate reply of gratitude, despite her distraction recalling the words which have been taught her ad nauseam in a time when there was still a need for wet nurses and governesses. She is grateful for it, for she has never been closer to ensuring a match which gives everything she cares for the best chance of survival.

She has to hold back a sigh of relief when he leans in to take her hand when she offers it, his lips ghosting over her knuckles without actually touching them, exactly like many a knight have forgotten they're supposed to. She refuses to think of the previous time she felt his breath on her skin, can't allow herself to wonder why it is quicker and less deep now than when he held her in the forest.

Any hope for his obliviousness is gone however when he visibly tenses while his face is still almost touching her hand, his suddenly wide eyes flying upwards to meet hers. Belle has no idea what gave her away after all, but there's no doubt in her mind that he knows that she was the one sneaking around outside the castle, ogling and startling him…  _escaping_ him. Until now, at least.

She hasn't dared assume what the consequences might be if she were to be found out, but she knows better than to hope that it won't impact his opinion of her, and thus the odds that their marriage of convenience will be a fruitful,  _living_  one.

Belle is grateful at least that he doesn't make a scene right there and then, smoothly getting back on his feet and bowing his head to her before mingling with the openly curious soldiers, nobles and advisors around them.

"What do you think of him, Belle?" her father asks quietly, interrupting her thoughts. "I must admit that he is older than I thought, but…"

"He is our only hope," she adds, knowing this as well as he does. "It's all right, papa. I know you want my marriage to be a happy one, that you wish for  _me_ to be happy. Whether he'll be a good husband or not, he's the best chance all of us have. I'll marry him."

"The entire court speaks very highly of him," her father reassures her, looking helpless even as he does so. "King David himself wrote to me that he is a honorable man and…"

He falters, giving her a look of warning before focusing on something behind her right when Belle herself senses someone approaching them.

"Sir Rumplestiltskin," her father greets the nearing knight for the second time.

"Lord Maurice, Lady Belle," he says, bowing his head to them once more. "Please forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt."

"Is everything to your liking, sir? Is there anything else we can do for you?"

"No thank you, my lord. I thank you for the efforts you have made to welcome me. I merely meant to inquire if I can perhaps briefly talk with Lady Belle under four eyes."

The question is directed at her father, like any man would consider  _him_ the one to speak for her, but his eyes are on her when Sir Rumplestiltskin asks it until she informs him of her own consent with a slight nod.

That's how Belle finds herself following her fiancé to a quiet corner of the hall, the nerves welling up inside of her not dissimilar to the panic she experienced when he chased her through the woods. One word from him would be enough to end their engagement and his dedication to their cause right here and now.

"My lady, there's something I wish to ask you."

Rather than going straight ahead with his inquiry, he looks questioningly at her.

"What is it that you wish to ask?" she encourages him with a gentleness that would have made her late governess proud, even as her heart sinks.

"Did we... meet three nights ago? By the lake just outside the walls?"

"We did," she says quietly, feeling that starting her acquaintance with her future husband with a lie would make their relationship yet worse. She forces herself to keep holding his gaze while she inwardly braces herself for whatever is to come now that she has admitted this to him.

But rather than expressing his fury or disapproval, Sir Rumplestiltskin sinks to his knees in front of her, bowing his head yet more deeply than when he introduced himself to her.

"My deepest apologies, my lady. Had I known that it was an ally who was hidden, had I known that you are to be my  _wife_ …"

He looks up at her, regret written all over his previously stoic face.

"I hope you can forgive me in time. I dread to think of what I did to you, for capturing and pursuing you. I should have at least considered the notion that you weren't an enemy who had found a way to go over the wall unnoticed... as I had done myself."

"There's... there's nothing to forgive, sir," Belle manages to say, bewildered that he isn't upset at least. "If anything,  _I_ should be the one to apologize for... for looking at you the way I did."

He swallows visibly when she reminds him of the fact that she studied him –  _all_ of him – while he was in the lake, oblivious to her presence.

"There's nothing to forgive, my lady," he says eventually, echoing her earlier words. "I should have announced my arrival as soon as I reached the castle rather than... well. I just hope that you are not... displeased."

Only when he looks meaningfully at her, it dawns on Belle that he's referring to the way he looks underneath the worn, rather plain clothes he's currently wearing. It's a reminder that he is to be her husband in every sense of the word... that the body she looked at will make hers  _his_.

"I... I'm not, sir," she blurts out thoughtlessly, blushing fiercely despite herself as she vividly recalls the way he looked when nothing but water droplets covered his lithe and wiry body.

"I'm... glad," he replies, sounding surprised and relieved for a reason she can't phantom, just like she can't imagine why redness appears to be coloring his cheeks as well.

"Sir, can I ask..." she says, voicing the question she has been wanting to ask since the moment she saw him for the first time. "What were you doing in that forest?"

"I think we both know I was  _bathing,_ my lady," he replies tensely.

If it wouldn't have been for the situation and for the completely serious expression of her fiancé, Belle would have giggled.

"But why were you bathing  _there_? Our castle isn't exactly in good shape, and neither are our resources, but we would have managed to prepare a steaming bath for you. I hope you didn't think that we couldn't at least provide that for you."

"I would never have thought such thing, my lady. It's just..." If he hadn't been such a distinguished knight, she would have considered the look on his face a rather sheepish one. "The roads were quite clear and I arrived considerably earlier here than I planned to. Still, I had been traveling for weeks and I... well, I could use a bath. I didn't want to meet the people here looking worse for wear... especially not if my bride would be among them."

"I greatly appreciate that," Belle finds herself saying. She has no need for pleasantries or empty gestures, but she can't help but feel...  _something_  at the discovery that, in a way, she herself was the reason she found him bathing in the lake in the first place.

"My lady, may I inquire how you eluded me in the forest?" he asks, the curiosity in his voice telling her that this is more than an attempt to change the topic. "You were almost within my reach, but then you were gone, almost like you had disappeared into thin air."

"I have the benefit of having grown up in those woods. I loved playing there and spent there as much time as I could."

She expects him to say that women, even young ones, aren't supposed to play in woods – or outrun knights, for that matter - but all Sir Rumplestiltskin does is look at her expectantly.

"I knew you were right behind me and that you would catch up with me any moment, so I climbed up a tree before you did."

"That was the first possibility I considered," he says, looking at her more intently than he has done before, "but none of the trees in that area had low branches. It would have been impossible for you to climb into them, or at least in such short time."

"There is a rope attached to one of them. I hadn't used it in years and I could only hope that it was still present and functional, but it was."

"I assume you pulled the rope upwards as soon as you had climbed in the tree, so I wouldn't be able to see it."

"I did exactly that," she says, not entirely managing to prevent herself from grinning broadly at him.

"An impressive feat, my lady," he says, not sounding sarcastic in the slightest.

"Sir, can you tell me how you knew that I was the one who you encountered by the lake? I believe you didn't recognize me at first. Can I ask what changed that?"

"Of course you can," he replies, as if it's only normal for her to ask questions, and for him to answer them. "When I kissed your hand, I was close enough to you for me to..."

"Apologies, Sir Rumplestiltskin," someone interrupts them. Looking away from the knight opposite her, Belle finds that several of her father's advisors have disturbed them. "We would like your opinion on a matter."

Just like that, he is practically pulled away from her, none of the men acknowledging her presence or, indeed, the fact they just interrupted the knight's conversation with his fiancée. Before he is whisked out of her sight however, he makes a gesture of helplessness to her, which also includes something that gives her the impression that he'd rather talk to her than to any of the people in the hall.

Realizing that she has just had her first conversation with the man with whom she'll spend the rest of her life – no matter how long or short that will turn out to be – Belle can't help but find some delight in the discovery that her highly mysterious future husband has become only more intriguing now that she's talked to him for the first time.


	3. Chapter 3

"This is by far the best plan we have ever had," Belle says at last, breaking the stunned, deafening silence which has fallen over everyone in the war room after Sir Rumplestiltskin shared his plans to defend the castle and the lands surrounding it from the Ogres.

Her father and the other knights and advisors mutter in agreement, their initial disbelief gradually turning into enthusiasm, even hope. She couldn't have imagined it after her fiancé began his proposal for their defense hours ago by telling them that the group of Ogres heading for the castle is yet larger than than they previously feared.

When the men gather around Sir Rumpelstiltskin to praise his plan and discuss it in more detail, Belle takes her chance to make her way to the front of the former crowd. Only then she can take her first proper look at the table where the large map of the kingdom is spread out, including the new places of the figurines which mark the forces and strongholds of both them and the Ogres.

There may be much more of the latter than anticipated, but at the same time it turned out that there was news yet better than the announcement that the queen and king will send a few hundred men from the capital to their aid.

It was the knight himself who got most of their attention with his strategies; tales of fire, arrows and smoke, catapults and explosions, half of which she wouldn't have believed if he hadn't mixed a small amount of strange powder to volatile effect in this very room.

Belle had never really considered alchemy tricks and technical constructions as part of a battle plan before, but now she is convinced for the first time that they might stand an actual chance against the Ogres.

Studying the map in front of her, considering the changes her fiancé suggested with regards to the position of the troops and the to be created instruments of war, Belle reviews the notes she took during the meeting. While she's doing so, she scribbles down several suggestions and questions to ask him later, when Sir Rumpelstiltskin isn't surrounded by a number of men who think she has no business being there with them in the war room.

"It was your scent."

More than the spoken words, it's the sudden presence right behind her which startles her to the extent that she doesn't immediately recognize the not yet familiar voice. Only when she has whirled around to determine the source of the sudden sound, she realizes that Sir Rumpelstiltskin is the one who has spoken, that he is in fact standing very closely to her... and that they are the only two people still in the room.

"I beg your pardon?" she brings out, her voice squeaking as she tries to make sense of what he just said.

"Please forgive me, my lady," he says, quickly taking a step backwards, as if realizing only then just how near he is to her. "I... I am not used to being among company."

There's something in his gaze that tells her that he especially isn't used to being among  _women,_  let alone one who will be his wife. It's yet another facet of him that shouldn't intrigue her the way it does.

"It seems to me that you are doing very well, sir. I would only advise you not to approach people so quietly, especially not from the back."

He nods, then looks at her as if he has forgotten what to say.

"You were saying something about my... scent?" she prompts, both the topic and the way he studies her confusing her... which makes her only more curious.

"I did, yes," he says quickly, that rather sheepish look coming over him again. "What we were talking about at the night of my... official arrival. The way I recognized you during my first, less official night here."

"I remember!" she cries out, probably with more enthusiasm than she should. But it's an undeniable delight to find that he, too, apparently couldn't get that conversation out of his head, returning to the topic as soon as the two of them get the chance to talk in private again.

"When I... restrained you that night, I noticed the scent of herbs around you. When I kissed your hand when we met for the second time, I recognized that smell. Especially when I saw the way you looked at me, I knew it had to be you."

"Herbs, you say?" she asks, more in an attempt to compose herself than anything else. Yet more than the discovery that he must have a very good sense of smell to pick up on something so personal she wasn't aware of herself, she's distracted by the question whether of he was breathing in her scent before he addressed her a minute ago.

"Chamomile, lavender, anise, among others. I find it… soothing."

There's something in the way he says that last word that has her cherishing this new revelation about her future husband... something that has her imagining using the scent and perhaps even oils of herbs to ease her fiancé's tension.

"My lady, now that we speak again, there's something I must return to you."

Before she can wonder what he's talking about, the knight retrieves a small weapon from underneath his cloak. Before he unsheathes it, she already recognizes the dagger she lost when he restrained her in the forest.

"I am deeply sorry for having taken this from you. I give it back to you with the hope of receiving your forgiveness, and with the promise that I will do anything I can to ensure that you won't be separated from it again."

"You are entirely forgiven, sir," she reminds him, her mind reeling with the implication that he doesn't object to her carrying a dagger with her... and with the beauty of the sheath he hands her along with the actual weapon.

"It's a gift, my lady," he says, following her gaze. "A token of my affection."

"It's  _beautiful_ ," she replies, admiring the simple but elegant item, adorned with what couldn't possibly be a real gem. "You shouldn't have... I can't take this!"

"You don't have to have it if you don't like it, of course not!" he hurriedly says, sounding rather alarmed. "But I'd like you to have it if you wish it. It was given to me recently, but I have no use for it."

"Thank you, sir," she says, flustered to the extent that she almost trips over her own feet when she hastily curtsies to express her gratitude. Even if there was no war to worry about, she wouldn't have been able to predict that her future husband would bestow  _this_ sort of gifts on her.

Still, it's also a relief to have the familiar weight and shape of the dagger in her hand once more, no matter how useless it turned out to be when she thought she needed it to defend herself against him.

"If I may be so bold to say so, it is a beautiful weapon."

"It is," she agrees, pulling it from its new sheath to show it to him. "It was also a gift, but... Gaston died before he could teach me how to use it."

"Are you referring to Sir Gaston?" he asks tentatively.

"Yes. He was my fiancé."

"I'm very sorry to hear that, my lady. My condolences for your loss," he says, sounding troubled by this information. "I had heard about Sir Gaston's demise, but I did not know he was your betrothed."

"Thank you," she says, her response more sincere than every other time when those words were said to her. "I miss him dearly, but not as my fiancé. He was like a brother to me, a good friend, but no more than that."

"I don't mean to pry, but I can't help my curiosity. If I recall correctly, I heard that he died defending a woman's honor. Please let me know if you do not wish to discuss this, but I can't help but wonder whether that woman was you."

"You do recall correctly, sir," she says tensely. On the one hand, she wishes to be honest with her future husband, but on the other hand she can't help but wonder how his opinion of her - and their impending marriage - might be influenced if he knows of the circumstances that led to Gaston's death.

"Please forgive me, my lady, I shouldn't have asked."

"It's all right," Belle replies, relaxing because of the regret in his voice. "Nothing truly... scandalous happened. But there was a man who was untoward towards me. One night, he cornered me and tried to… touch me. I got away and confided in Gaston. He challenged Nottingham to a duel to defend my virtue. They weren't supposed to fight to  _death_ , but Nottingham had been drinking and the way he attacked Gaston… it was terrifying. Gaston had to defend himself somehow, and…"

"Surely, Sir Gaston won the duel?" he asks carefully when she trails off.

"He did. Nottingham died of his injuries the same day. But he had poisoned the tip of his sword before the duel. Gaston died six days later."

No matter how much Belle has wept over the fate of her betrothed, tears are welling in her eyes once again when she is reminded of the horror of those days - and many that followed them.

Sir Rumplestiltskin seems at a complete loss, even as she quickly wipes her tears away, remembering only too well that her governess used to tell her that men can't stand the sight of them. Through her unclear vision, it appears that he tentatively reaches for her, only to withdraw his hand before it touches her face. It seems that he moves to take something from his pocket instead, but doesn't actually take something from it before his hand falls back to his side.

"I… I know I am not Sir Gaston," he says quietly, after a long moment has passed. "I am fully aware that I can't be the man that he was, the man you cared deeply about - and still do. But I will protect you, my lady. Whatever it takes."

She may have thought that the character of the man she will marry instead of Gaston wouldn't matter in the face of Ogres and looming death, but it dawns on her that this isn't the case at all, if for a whole different reason than expected, now that Sir Rumplestiltskin provides a ray of sunlight in the darkness of war without even knowing it.

Belle is overcome by a rush of unannounced gratitude that  _he_ is her new fiancé, rather than a man like Nottingham, that this man is caring in a way that's quite different from her former fiancé's overprotective brotherliness.

Smiling through the remains of her tears, the almost unfamiliar joy welling up inside of her has her crossing the distance between the two of them with a few determined strides and unabashedly throwing her arms around him.

The less informal addition to her expression of relief is stuck in her throat however when the knight noticeably tenses in her embrace. Although she doesn't understand what's happening, Belle lets go of him immediately, taking a step back as she looks at him in shock.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I shouldn't have…"

Words fail her once more when it seems to her that it's not the inappropriateness of her actions as such that is the reason for his discomfort, going almost entirely still when her upper body is pressed lightly against his. Still, she can't tell what might be the actual cause, can't begin to speculate why  _he_ is the one uncomfortable with their sudden physical nearness.

"Please don't be sorry, my lady. I didn't mean to upset you or to… rebuff your affections. It's just that all of this is… unfamiliar."

His remark is as puzzling as it is unhelpful. He implied before that he's unaccustomed to a woman's touch, but surely, he must have had intimate relationships with women to at least some degree. He isn't supposed to, of course, as an unmarried knight, but Belle found out a long time ago that the truly noble knights only exist in the books she no longer has the time or patience for.

Before she can begin to formulate a response, Sir Rumplestiltskin straightens himself and clears his throat, obviously very keen to change the subject.

"I can teach you how to use that dagger, if you wish. But there's something I'd rather teach you."

Although she  _knows_ that he doesn't mean it like that, Belle can't help but think back on Nottingham's disgusting innuendos. But before she can recall the awfully familiar words too vividly, she becomes fully aware of the sincerity in the knight's eyes, that in him there's none of the leeriness that made her loathe the other man.

"You'll recall that I recommended those who are willing to fight but have no previous experience to take up arms as well. To find a leader for those who least of all should be on a battlefield."

"The leader of the women and children who will defend the walls with bow and arrow," she adds, understanding.

"I said that I didn't know yet who should lead them. That's not entirely true. The truth is that her father reluctantly agrees, but that I haven't had the chance yet to ask the opinion of the lady in question herself."

"I'll do it," Belle says with a determination she doesn't entirely feel when it dawns on her after a few long seconds of meeting his meaningful gaze that he's referring to  _her_. "I presume you aren't surprised that I've never used a bow before, that very few of us here have?"

"I know. I'll teach you myself, if you permit me, so you can teach whoever wishes to join you in turn. We can start as soon as you are available."

"Well, there's no time like the present."

"Excellent," he says, leading her out of the room without actually touching her. "I suggest we practice in the forest."

"It isn't as quiet there as it used to be, though," she says lightly, attempting to bring a smile to the face of her ever so stern fiancé.

There's no sign of it however when he opens the door for her and clears his throat again.

"My lady, once more I can't help but voice my curiosity… how did you get away from Nottingham when he tried to take advantage of you?"

"I broke his nose," she simply replies.

It might be her imagination, but it seems to Belle that his lips turn upwards ever so slightly after all in response.


	4. Chapter 4

Sir Rumplestiltskin doesn't comment on the fact that she's wearing the same clothes as when she met him in the forest -  _men's_ clothing - as Belle steps out of her chambers, where she changed her dress for something more suitable for practicing archery.

He offers her his arm while he steps away from where he had been waiting for her at the edge of the corridor, a spot which he doubtlessly purposefully chose to have a good overview of anyone who could have wanted to approach her quarters while she was changing.

She takes his arm, charmed by the chivalrous gesture. She is the one leading him though, guiding him through quiet hallways to a rarely used back entrance of the castle. It doesn't really surprise her, but it greatly pleases her nonetheless that he lets her, following her without any protest. Belle much rather uses this route to reach the forest than any of the alternatives which lead past several soldiers.

It's a quiet, moonlit evening, but she refuses to dwell on the similarities with the night that she met him. Similarly, she tries to ignore her empty stomach by sheer willpower, reminding herself that there's no point in wishing for food that isn't there.

"Does anyone know that you go outside the castle on your own at night?" he asks softly as they make their way beneath the trees.

"I'm quite certain that I would be locked in the castle if anyone knew," she admits, squaring her jaw when she glances at him, challenging him to defy her.

"Then let's make certain it stays like that. I'm not… I do not wish to limit your freedom, my lady. Quite the opposite. It's just… if you wish to go outside, perhaps you could ask me to accompany you? This forest is indeed relatively safe and I wouldn't dare to think that you might purposefully endanger your well-being. It's just that I hate to think what might happen if you stumble in the dark, or when there's an unpredicted attack on the area after all."

"I would like that. It is… pleasant to walk here with you like this," she carefully says. "To get to know each other better."

"It is," he agrees, his tone implying that he's just as surprised by this as she is.

Indeed, just walking with him at her side is enjoyable, the air and space around them seemingly yet more liberating compared to life between the castle's walls now that her fiancé is with her. Belle is almost disappointed when they reach a clearing and he indicates that this is their destination… or at least, until she recalls that he's going to teach her how to use a bow.

"Why don't you create a target while I get the bow?" he says, looking from the dagger she's still holding to a thick, dying tree on the periphery of the open space.

"Do you concur that the Ogres' face is their only somewhat vulnerable part, especially the eyes?" she asks, taking the opportunity to confirm whether the few relevant sources she could find in her father's library are actually true now that she can talk to someone who has both fought Ogres and is willing to answer her questions for the first time.

"I do," he says, before making his way to wherever he apparently can get a bow from.

While he's gone, Belle carves a resemblance of an Ogre's face in the trunk… or at least, a resemblance of the vague drawings she has seen of them in books. Sir Rumplestiltskin is already back by the time she's done, carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows. He matter-of-factly hands the former to her.

She expected that the days in which she dreamed of adventure were long gone, but she can't help but reverently touch the smooth wood of the weapon with more than purposeful determination.

"Try holding it, if you like," he gently instructs.

She does exactly that, not feeling nearly as self-conscious as she would have thought when holding this kind of weapon for the first time in the presence of a seasoned knight. She intuitively finds a stance, firmly holding the bow while pulling back its string.

"Does it work like this?" she asks.

"Almost."

Rather than telling her what she should do instead, he gestures her to give the bow back to him. Once he holds it himself, he stands still to allow her to examine his stance and his hold on the weapon. She circles around him, increasingly aware that it's her  _fiancé_ she's scrutinizing like this... her fiancé who's going to teach her to fight.

That's why she takes her time studying him, why she can't help but do so, her attention captured by his straight posture and untrembling limbs, by the focus written all over his face when he takes an arrow and positions it on the bow. His eyes are determined behind his graying hair, of which she notices only now that it's quite shaggy.

Like any of the events in especially the last few months, this is hardly a time for trivialities, for  _daydreams,_ such as the physical appearance of the man who will bed her soon. But despite herself, Belle wonders what it might be like to have all of his attention focused solely on her body, for those confident hands to be touching her rather than the bow.

She almost misses the moment that Sir Rumplestiltskin lets go of the bowstring and sends the arrow flying at its target, where it ends up in the the carved Ogre's chin.

"I must admit that the bow is not my weapon of choice," he says, returning it to her. "But it could be yours."

Managing to force her inappropriate thoughts away, Belle takes the bow and the new arrow he offers her, mimicking his earlier stance as well as she can. He eyes her critically and for just a second she wonders whether he sees more than a student now that he looks at her like this. But if he does, there's no sign of it.

"Is this better?" she asks, her grip on the bow and the positioning of her arms different than before, following his example.

"Yes. Just put your right elbow a little higher… That's it. Now aim for the target; look right over the length of the arrow. Its point should line up with the target."

Belle does as he instructs, aiming for the left eye of the Ogre.

"When you've aimed, just let go of the bowstring."

She does that, too, filled with anticipation… only for the arrow to fly right past the target, not even hitting the tree.

"It takes practice," he just says, handing her the quiver of arrows.

She takes that as well, swinging it on her back. He doesn't laugh when she can't quite take an arrow from it by reaching over her shoulder at her first attempt… or the second. By the time she does manage to get another arrow, he's sitting down several feet away from her, unsheathing his sword.

While he sharpens his weapon, Belle shoots arrow after arrow, only for all of them to miss the target. It doesn't get better in the slightest as she continues her attempts, her arms getting tired with exhaustion. Although his eyes are on her the whole time, he doesn't say a word, just continues polishing his sword once he has put the whetstone back in his pocket.

"I can't do it!" she eventually exclaims in frustration. More than failing at something she's always wanted to do, it's failing at something she  _should_ be able to do to defend everything she loves that has her almost throwing down the bow in defeat.

"Of course you can," he says calmly, standing up. "May I assist you?"

She nods firmly, aiming the bow once more. All the focus she might have mustered once more is however gone when he comes to stand right behind her.

"My lady, do you permit me to touch your arms?" he asks, his words whispering against her damp neck.

"I do," she breathes, only realizing then that her efforts have left her sweating and that there's no way that he won't notice. And yet, he steps even closer to her, his clothes brushing hers.

"It seems to me that you lower your right arm too soon when releasing the bowstring. How about we try to remedy that?"

Belle nods breathlessly, very much aware of their nearness, of the gentleness and warmth of his hand when he supports her right arm when she takes aim again. To her horror, her left arm starts to quiver in response, causing the bow to tremble as well.

"Do I frighten you or make you uncomfortable, my lady?" he asks with audible concern, letting go of her right arm immediately, taking a large step back as well.

"No!" she breathes, although she can't quite define what  _does_ make her react to him like this. "Can we… can we continue?"

"Yes," he says, stepping back and using his left hand to support her other arm as well.

For the sake of her sanity, Belle refuses to dwell on the fact that Sir Rumplestiltskin would be standing almost flush against her if it hadn't been for the quiver of arrows on her back.

"That's it, take your time," he says when she aims once more, her arms feeling stronger and more confident when they are lightly held by him. "Your aim is good; it's a matter of properly releasing. Just… let… go... slowly."

Keeping the bow as steady as she can, Belle tries to bring his advice into practice. But it's difficult even remembering what he just told her when she can feel his breath against her skin and her hair tickling his face, let alone actually  _do_ it.

Still, when she lets the bowstring slip from her fingertips, the arrow flies away straighter than ever before, hitting the tree trunk right where she carved the Ogres' nose.

"I did it!" she yells, practically jumping up and down in excitement before she can stop herself.

"You did!" he replies. Although her back is still towards him, she can practically feel his approval. "Why don't you try again?"

She's already positioning a next arrow before he has encouraged her to do so, this one ending up in the target's forehead. She's oblivious that his touch is too light to be functional when her next arrow pierces the wooden Ogres' right eye.

"Very well done," he says. The three softly spoken words are the best compliment she's ever received.

She lowers the bow, wordlessly indicating that she's done practicing for now for as far as she's concerned. Sir Rumplestiltskin doesn't seem to realize however that there's no need for him to continue standing right behind her, his fingers still brushing her lower arms.

Relishing the way their closeness makes her feel safe, nervous and excited all at once, Belle isn't going to remind him just yet that their physical closeness isn't required any longer.


	5. Chapter 5

"I'm going to gather your arrows," Belle says at length, as Sir Rumplestiltskin still makes no move to step away from her.

It's as if he has lost track of time - of everything other than her, really - while standing so near to her even after their archery lesson ended. It's not that it bothers her as such, far from it, but it makes her feel lightheaded, almost nervous, if only because she has no idea whatsoever how she might react, how she could inform him that she enjoys their nearness, too.

Besides, she's very much aware that she just shot almost his entire collection of arrows over a considerable distance in a variety of not quite right directions. At least the moon is still shining brightly now, its light making the search a whole lot easier.

"I'll help," he says, his voice rather tense when he removes himself from her after all.

It's almost like she has broken some sort of spell, but Belle wouldn't know what kind of spell that might be, and what could possibly have caused it, whether their previous nearness has anything to do with it.

The knight looks quite like his usual, thoroughly composed self once more when they return to the clearing a while later, each of them carrying an armful of arrows… only for him to stand dead in his tracks when they approach each other in the middle of the clearing.

"What's wrong?" she cries out, not understanding.

"Nothing, my lady," he hastily reassures her, continuing towards her. "Nothing at all. It's just…"

When he's in reach, he weakly gestures at her face. For the first time since almost as long as she can remember, Belle wishes for a mirror, running her free hand down her face in an attempt to find out what he's referring to.

Her fingers encounter loose tresses at both sides of her face. She pulled the hood of her cloak from her head when she got warm with exertion during their lesson, but she wasn't aware in the slightest that quite some of her curls have escaped their usual restraints in the mean time, falling freely down to her shoulders instead.

"I… I'll…"

Whatever she meant to say, the words are stuck in her throat when she realizes that she can't quickly make an end to the inappropriateness of her appearance, especially not with dozens of arrows in her arms.

"I'll take those," he says.

She awkwardly hands the arrows to him, adding them to those he's already carrying himself. But as her hands are free to explore the uncontrolled messiness that her hair has become, she finds that she has no idea where to begin to bring her appearance to a more acceptable level… whether it's possible at all without the aid of a comb and a mirror, and preferably soap and water.

Since the war broke out, Belle hasn't cared how unkempt or unwashed her hair might get in the chaos of one long, exhausting day after the other. But now, with her fiancé right opposite her looking at her with wide eyes, she could hardly be more mortified.

"What do you require, my lady?" he asks, somehow sensing once more that something is bothering her and immediately doing his best to help her.

"A bath, probably," she sighs, her relief that he at least doesn't appear to be scandalized for now outweighing the awareness of how difficult it will be to get even a cold bath now that each and every one of their limited resources is devoted to surviving the war against the Ogres.

"I've got some soap nearby, and there's plenty of water right there…" he says questioningly, gesturing at the trees behind which the lake is located.

"You wish to get me naked in the lake, sir?" she finds herself asking in jest, smiling a little as she can't help but think back on the way they met.

"No,  _no_... of course not, my lady!" he exclaims, almost stuttering in his urge to reassure her.

"It's all right, I know you didn't mean it like that," she quickly says. "I didn't speak in earnest."

As if the situation isn't horrifying enough yet, she's blushing once more… and again, so is he.

"Please forget that I said anything, my lady. I must apologize for the suggestion; it's highly inappropriate."

"You are entirely forgiven, sir," she says, those words too starting to get rather familiar. "It's just..."

She runs her protesting hands through her hair to determine just how bad the state of it is, sighing in frustration when she finds her long curls horribly greasy and sweaty… and that her arms are trembling with their recent efforts to the extent that she can barely lift them up any longer, further complicating the situation.

"I did mean what I said about the soap and water," Sir Rumpelstiltskin says carefully, as if he's terrified of making another mishap, no matter how trivial.

"I'm afraid my arms won't be of much use for the rest of the day. But thank you for the suggestion, sir. It means a lot to me that you offer your assistance."

"My lady, I hope I'm not too forward in telling you this, but I think you are utterly lovely as you are right now and…"

"That's not… that's not too forward, good sir," she says, trying to keep her sudden giddiness out of her voice. But it's the first time that he has given her such a compliment and she likes this more than she could have thought.

"I'm… I'm glad. But that's not everything that I wanted to suggest. It's probably a ridiculous and inappropriate idea, so feel very free to pretend that I never offered it, but… if it would make you feel better… it would be my honor to assist in tidying your hair… to wash it, if you wish."

His expression and his voice alike are so tentative, so unassuming, that she nods, giving in to her curiosity.

"But how…"

"Follow me, my lady, if you please," he says, sounding as if he never expected her to accept his proposal… and like he isn't quite certain how to proceed.

Belle forgets about that though when he guides her towards the lake, where a small tent is put up almost right next to it. Sir Rumplestiltskin heads for it as if… well, as if he  _lives_ there.

"Do you sleep here?!" Belle cries out, horrified that the knight who is their final hope appears to spend his free time outside the castle walls in a tent as small as any soldier's. "Has my father not offered you a proper room in the castle?"

"He has, and repeatedly so. But I prefer to be outside, like I have been almost all my life."

As Belle tries to understand why he would prefer to spend his nights in cold and discomfort like this, he moves into the tent. When he comes out a moment later, the knight carries a bar of soap and what appears to be a comb.

"This is all I have," he says apologetically, kneeling down next to a small pile of wood underneath a dented kettle to get a new fire going. "But I can warm water for you, if you like."

"If it's not too much trouble…"

She doesn't want to bother him, no more than she's already doing anyway, but the prospect of hot water is a very tempting one indeed. She can't remember the last time she could wash any part of herself with water that was remotely warm.

"It isn't, not at all."

Belle is increasingly excited by the prospect, thoughtlessly starting to remove the pins from her hair while he busies himself filling the kettle with water from the lake when the first twigs start burning brightly.

When he returns to her, the water warming in the kettle above the fire, it dawns on her that she has been a bit too hasty. Sir Rumplestiltskin  _stares_ at her, or rather, at the hair that's falling limply down her back now that she has taken out the pins that previously kept it in place.

It belatedly occurs to her that he hasn't seen her with her hair down before… just like he wasn't supposed to, for as long as they aren't married. As if that isn't bad enough yet, her hair could probably look hardly worse than it does now.

And yet, there's no disgust or even disapproval in his expression… far from it. Belle is intrigued and delighted alike by the way he takes in the sight of her, making her feel as if she's the most precious thing he has ever seen.

"I… I think I got ahead of myself," she sheepishly says.

"It's… it's no matter. We should… best to get started, before the water gets too warm."

"Yes, of course. How do you suppose we can we do this?"

"I suggest you lean back over a boulder so I can wash your hair without getting your clothes wet."

"Good idea," she enthuses, her embarrassment quickly forgotten as she gets more and more excited about these highly unexpected developments.

While he takes the supplies, she seeks a suitable boulder, one that allows for support to her neck while her hair can hang freely off the other side at the same time. She soon finds one that almost seems to be made for this very purpose and she's already leaning back against it by the time he joins her.

As if he hasn't done so much for her already, the knight shrugs out of his dark brown cloak and offers it to her, so she can put it between her back and the hard rock she's sitting against.

"Sir, I couldn't possibly accept... "

"I'd like you to, my lady. Please don't consider not borrowing it on my account. I think you need it more than I do now. I'm hardly cold."

"Thank you," she mutters, far from being influenced by the chilly evening air herself when she takes the thick fabric from him after all.

Heat rushes to her face - and to more than just there, it seems - once more at the awareness that all of this hardly leaves him unaffected… and that this does the opposite of changing her mind.

"I'm ready when you are, good sir," she replies, leaning back against the softness of his cloak covering the large rock.

After both of them have gathered her long tresses and have arranged them on the other side of the boulder, Belle sighs happily when he carefully pours the first warm water over her head, shielding her face with one of his hands to make certain that none of it gets into her eyes or ears.


	6. Chapter 6

There were several things that Belle expected from her marriage after Gaston was killed, and several that she did not. When marrying her childhood friend was no longer an option and the Ogres attacked their far corner of the realm, she could only imagine herself marrying a man with the strength and bloodlust to fight the threat to their very survival, not a man with gentleness and devotion to cherish his wife, if only like a sister.

Friendship and affection, let alone  _love_ , seemed out of the question.

None of those expectations included something completely the opposite of indifference or cruelty, something like  _this_. Belle can barely believe what's happening when her fiancé wets her hair with a carefulness that almost brings tears to her eyes.

"Are you comfortable, my lady?" Sir Rumplestiltskin asks when he puts away the cup he used to pour water over her head.

"I am, very much so," she smiles up at him.

She marvels that none of the water dripping from her hair reaches her now that she is pleasantly leaning against the rock, her neck resting on the edge of it. Thanks to his cloak, the large stone is as comfortable as her bed.

"I'm afraid that the soap I have isn't nearly as good as what you should have, but it's all I have."

"It doesn't matter at all," she says, shivering pleasantly with the awareness that it's  _his_ soap that he's going to use… that she'll share something of his with him in such an intimate way.

"Well then, let's proceed… although this will take a moment."

Belle tilts her head sideways so she can look at him while he works up a good lather, recognizing the bar of soap in his hands as the one he used when she stumbled upon him when he was washing himself in the lake.

"Will you tell me when there's anything not to your liking?" he asks when he settles himself behind her again, his hands covered in bubbles. "Anything at all? After all, your hair is considerably… different from mine and…"

He trails off and there's another, by now almost familiar rush of warmth going throughout her when she realizes that this is as new for him as it is for her.

"I will tell you," she replies, as reassuringly as she can. "Before we start, you should know that because my hair is such a mess now, it's unavoidable to… well, there'll probably be some… accidents when you wash my hair. Please don't be alarmed if you unintentionally hurt me slightly."

"I'll be careful as I can," he says solemnly, as if he'd rather be harmed himself - and considerably more so - than accidentally hurting her a little.

When he begins to get the soap into her hair, his touches are so light that she wonders whether they have effect at all. But when she doesn't yelp in pain like he appears to have almost expected her to, the knight's confidence increases. Belle relaxes yet further as he works the soap into her hair with hands that are considerably more tender than she has known in half a lifetime of wet nurses and governesses.

He has to work up another lather of soap a few more times, to add some more water here and there. He apologizes each time he does, as if it's  _his_ fault that washing her hair requires so much effort.

Belle just sits there, breathing slowly and deeply, eyes sometimes open, sometimes closed, just  _being_ , never losing only slightly awareness of the man kneeling down behind her. His tentative hands never leave her tresses or, indeed, unintentionally pull at her hair even once.

Her hair is nicely soaped up eventually and she relaxes further when he appears to be humming under his breath while he works, as if he too is thoroughly at ease because of his ministrations.

When he has lathered each and every one of her long curls, he turns his focus to her head itself. Belle can only barely refrain from letting out a moan of enjoyment when he gently massages her scalp with ever tentative hands, never ceasing to bestow his attention on her, as if they have all the time in the world… as if he could spend an entire night making her feel wonderful.

She can look up at the stars from her current position, the bright, tiny sources of light only adding to the magic of the moment as the knight's hands linger in her by now perfectly clean tresses. Her eyes flutter open and closed as time passes like a dream, as she heaves a sigh of sheer contentment every once in a while.

"Gods, this feels nice," she mutters dreamily.

For once, Belle won't consider the fact that the man with whom she expected to share a marriage of convenience at the most is making her feel better than she has in a long time - she will just enjoy it, a bit like the fairy tales she loved to read when she was younger.

She knows only too well that she isn't a princess whose happily ever after is awaiting her, but it has never been more tempting to pretend otherwise now that her own Prince Charming is lovingly tending to her.

"Yes… yes, it does," he replies.

Both of them still abruptly, his hands stop moving through her hair, equally startled that they have spoken out loud… that they have all but admitted that both of them like this in a way that goes far beyond simply getting her hair clean.

"I'm… it's almost done, my lady. Just let me wash the soap out for you. I'll heat some more water for that."

His hands startle back to movement, his motions highly efficient all of a sudden. Belle sighs in disappointment when he abruptly moves away, almost as if fleeing from her. She presumes that he doesn't need any more warm water to begin with, but that he uses it as an excuse to get away from her for a few moments.

She can't begin to understand why he might want such a thing, and she doesn't know how she might find out. Just asking him seems like a bad idea now that he busies himself around the fire, his head bowed and his back towards her.

It takes him longer than necessary to return to her, but when he does eventually Belle still doesn't know what she might say to him to bring an end to the sudden tension between them.

She just lies still when he pours water over her head once more. This time the liquid is the only thing that's warm about his ministration, his touches solely functional when he rinses her tresses. His hands are ever so careful when he squeezes the water from her hair when all the soap is gone, but she can no longer enjoy his attention.

He avoids her gaze when he helps her stand up, awkwardly holding her hair to ensure that the still damp mass of curls doesn't soak her back. The knight still doesn't look at her when he offers her his trusty cloak, as if it's nothing but a simple towel.

"I really can't take that, sir," she says, her objection more than politeness this time.

"You'll get cold," he says, still not looking at her.

" _You_ will get cold," she says, much more firmly than she intended. His cloak must be one of the very few things to keep him warm at night, when he sleeps alone in his small tent in the woods. She won't deprive him of it, no matter how cold she might get herself on her way back to the castle… and in her own room, which may be protected by thick, stone walls but where no fire has burned for years. "Please, I can't take it. I  _won't._ "

"I'm sorry, my lady," he says, sounding miserable, his head still bowed. "I didn't mean to offend."

"I… I'm sorry too, sir. You didn't offend at all. It's just… I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Especially not on my account."

She supposed she could cope with a husband who is cruel and brutish. Interacting with a man, a  _fiancé_ who is the complete opposite of that is  _wonderful,_ but it also turns out to bring problems of its own kind.

"Will you at least come sit by the fire, my lady? It will warm you up. Stay as long as you like. I'll leave you in peace."

"Will you stay?" she asks, a pleading edge to her voice. "I'd be very happy to sit by the fire, but I'd like to sit there with you."

"If you wish, my lady."

"I do."

Whatever sense of accomplishment she may have felt is gone when she sits down on her knees nicely close to the fire, all the while trying to keep her hair away from her clothes and her skin. While she does so, the knight makes a point of sitting down on the ground as far away from her as possible without getting out of the light spread by the fire entirely.

"Did I say or do something wrong, sir?" she asks quietly, unable to stand this sudden, strange tension between them.

"You didn't, my lady," he replies immediately, but his tone is still horribly formal and he still won't look at her.

"Then what is it?!" she tries again, attempting to keep at least her voice calm while she struggles with her hair.

"I… I don't really know," he says hesitantly, glancing up at her at last from beneath his hair, which is right then almost as much a curtain as her own. "It's just that I… I don't know what it's like to be a fiancé, my lady. I don't know what I should do… what I should  _no_ _t_  do."

"I didn't realize that," she admits quietly, looking at the man sitting opposite her as if seeing him for the first time once more. Because of his age, but more than that because of his occupation and gender, it never occurred to her that this could be as new for him as it is for her... that she perhaps is in fact more experienced with this than he is, considering that this is her second engagement.

"My lady, when I spend time with you, when I am with you… it's not what I thought it would be like. Not at all. It's… it's a lot easier than I expected. But at the same time, it can be... difficult."

He meets her gaze after all, the intent affection in it reaching somewhere inside of her, connecting with it.

"When I'm with you, or just  _thinking_ about you… it makes me… it makes me forget about propriety, my lady."

Belle swallows heavily, both his words and the way he says them, the way he looks at her, causing something deep within her to flutter.

"The way I see it, your actions and your words have been nothing but highly honorable. And if it's any consolation… you make me forget about propriety as well, good sir."

"You do?" he asks, sounding so utterly surprised and tentatively delighted that she smiles in response. " _I_ do?!"

"I do, thanks to you. Please don't think I am even slightly uncomfortable with what we have shared so far," she says fondly. "I won't pretend to know you nearly as well as I would like to, but… I don't think you will ever hurt me."

"My lady," he breathes reverently, sounding as if he can barely believe what she's saying.

"Come sit with me?" she asks again, gesturing at the ground next to her, close to the fire.

He nods, only to quickly make his way away from her, towards the trees… and to return a moment later, carrying a log of wood. He places it next to her, offering it to her almost like it's a gift such as jewelry or a new dress. At that moment, it might as well be.

Belle sits down on one half of it, the wood more comfortable than she imagines any throne to be when he carefully seats himself on the other half after her encouraging nod. Sitting together next to the fire like that would be simply perfect if it weren't for the damp mess of her hair. It reminds her of the comb he retrieved earlier… of what she can ask him now that they have come to an understanding of sorts.

"Sir Rumplestiltskin," she says purposefully, allowing herself to try the syllables of his highly unusual name on her lips for one of the first times, "will you do me the pleasure of combing my hair for me?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to LiliannaBelle for the encouragement and beta job! :D

Belle's request for the knight to comb her hair is met by another long silence. But just before she thinks that he won't do it, he nods slightly after all. Sir Rumplestiltskin takes a comb from his pocket, offering it to her for her inspection rather than starting to use it straight away.

"Is this acceptable to you, my lady? It's the only one I have."

More than the simpleness of the item, it's the hesitation in his voice that informs her that this comb is his - and has been for a long time. It's a simple comb, old and clearly much used, some of its teeth broken but the remaining wood well taken care of.

"It's more than fine, good sir," she replies, wondering whether he used this just before they officially met, intending to look his best for her.

"Let's turn towards the fire, so you'll be warmer and your hair will dry more quickly."

After some readjustment, the back of her head is towards the flames and he straddles the log, facing her. Although he can easily reach for her hair now, he looks at the admittedly messy curls with slightly apprehensive eyes rather than starting the task he seemed quite keen about carrying out just a moment ago.

"It doesn't really matter where you start," she says, briefly wondering whether the seasoned knight is intimidated by her hair, "although one of either sides is probably easiest."

While she continues to hold the slowly drying mass away from her body, Sir Rumplestiltskin takes a single tress, barely more than a few strands of her hair, and runs the comb through it with yet more carefulness.

"Just like that," she encourages him.

His touch becomes increasingly confident when he continues and she doesn't yelp out in pain like he seemingly expected, but not more rapidly. At this rate, they are going to be here for a considerable time, and Belle doesn't mind in the slightest - quite the opposite.

Between the warm fire and the knight's devoted touches, Belle relaxes in a way she hasn't done for a considerable time. Sighing contentedly, she finds herself thinking of the old comb he's currently using to tidy her hair, the one she presumes he has had for a long time.

"Where did you get that comb?" she asks, as neutrally as she can. No matter how much she wishes to get to know her quiet, ever mysterious fiancé at least a little better, she doesn't want to make him uncomfortable with her questions.

"My aunties gave it to me, a long time ago," he says, his response evoking a lot more questions than they actually answer.

"It's a nice comb," she says quietly, hoping to tempt him to say something about his background and childhood without pressuring him.

"It's probably not nearly as nice as the ones that you have," he replies quietly.

"None of them comb nearly as well as this one," she sincerely says, although she isn't entirely certain whether the smoothness with which the material runs through her unruly curls has everything to do with the man who is using it.

"This was the best they could afford," he adds hesitantly, his hands never ceasing their movements as they make their way through the tresses one knot at a time. "I never had the need to buy a new one. It reminds me of them… I like that."

"They must have loved you," she says carefully.

"I think they did. They looked after me as if I was their son rather than their nephew. I definitely loved them. I… I miss them."

"I'm sorry," she replies, managing not to give in to the urge to ask him about his biological parents and the circumstances that led to him being raised by his aunts - but only barely so.

She doesn't mean to pry, to disturb the peacefulness they have achieved. She really doesn't. But more than satisfying her curiosity for its own sake, she wants to  _know_ him, to understand the man who will be her husband soon.

"You have very capable hands," she remarks meaningfully, not allowing herself to wonder what his hands might feel like if they were to touch more of her than only her hair. "Suitable for work like this rather than fighting, I mean."

"They were spinsters," he says, his voice so soft that she can barely hear it.

Sir Rumplestiltskin bows his head, as if expecting her disapproval, his fingers stilling in her hair after all. She almost doesn't notice, processing the implication that he is lowborn. She has grown to learn that nobleness has nothing to do with birth, but she hadn't expected that the man at her side had ever been anything but a knight.

"They raised a good man," she says eventually.

"You don't… you don't  _mind_ , my lady? That I'm no son of a knight, or even a squire?"

"I can assure you, good sir, that I don't. I want… well, I want a marriage with someone who improves our chance against the Ogres. It's a very,  _very_ pleasant surprise that he turns out to be such a wonderful man, for as far as I've gotten the pleasure of getting to know him."

"I… you are a surprise as well, my lady. A pleasant surprise, I mean. Very pleasant."

He suddenly jerks back into movement, catching the comb just before it falls onto the ground as it apparently fell out from between his usually so certain fingers.

"What were you expecting me to be like?" she can't help but ask.

"I didn't know what to expect, but I thought it would be difficult to get used to having a fiancée, to become a husband. To… to share my life with someone else. But it isn't. In fact, I'm looking forward to…"

He falters once more, visibly tensing, but this time Belle can't think of a way to encourage him to continue talking. Yet more than being caught up in imagining what he might be looking forward to with regards to their engagement and marriage, it's the discovery that his pleasant surprises about her have nothing to do with her age or her physical appearance … that he apparently truly doesn't mind that she likes to walk alone in the woods at night, dress like a man when it suits her and yield any weapon she can to keep the Ogres from their gates.

"They taught me their trade," he continues. It takes her a moment to realize that he's talking about his aunts again, if only because he relaxes slightly. She hoped he would tell more about his aunts, earlier, and she still does… but more than anything, she wants to hear about his expectations of her and their marriage, his  _hopes_ … if not those he had before meeting her then those he has now. "I imagined that I would be a spinner for the rest of my life too, but…"

He resumes his task, the continuation of his gentle touches soothing some of the concern that his tone evokes within her.

"There was a sickness. Both of them died within the same week, only a few days after they got ill. A lot of people in the village died. I survived, but… I was hardly more than a boy. I couldn't support myself. Money had always been tight, but when it was only me… I just didn't know what to do. Joining the army seemed like the only option."

"And here we are," she concludes quietly, considering the odds that have brought them together, which caused the two of them to be right here, right now.

Sir Rumplestiltskin has stopped speaking and her curiosity is far from sated, but now that she has gained at least some insight into his past, she is happy to simply sit there while he undoes each and every single knot and kink in her hair with astonishing patience.

"I often miss it. Just watching the wheel… it helps me forget."

Belle might have found it lovely once that almost each and every single thing he says reveals yet another layer of him, makes her realize that there's yet more to discover about him. Now, in the harsh reality of war and impending marriage, she finds it more frustrating than anything else.

"Combing your hair reminds me of it. Of spinning… of being able to relax."

As if proving his point, she can sense his body losing yet more of the tension he usually carries with him. The knight leans into her ever so slightly. The movement is minimal, but her gaze is drawn regardless to their shadows on the ground next to them.

Belle might not be able to see him now that he's sitting behind her like this, but their silhouettes leave no mistake whatsoever about their closeness, how he is all but leaning against her as he runs the comb over and over again through her increasingly smooth hair. It might be her imagination or the fire - either next to her and within her - but it seems to her that she can feel the warmth of his body, which is considerably more noticeable than when he held her during their unfortunate first meeting.

That's what makes it yet more disappointing when he moves away from her after a while. She wasn't paying much attention to his progress, but it turns out that her hair is mostly dry and combed already… and that he's now sitting back so he can drape her curls over her back. Taking one handful at a time, Sir Rumplestiltskin runs the comb all the way from the roots to the ends.

It appears like each stroke takes almost forever, leaving her wondering how long her hair has actually gotten. She peeks over her shoulder, only for him to stop immediately because of what she belatedly realizes must seem like an interruption.

"I was just wondering how long it has gotten," she explains sheepishly.

There's no sign that he's surprised by the implication that she doesn't know the length of her own hair. Instead, he takes a long look at her, his calm, almost dreamy look turning into one of admiration, perhaps even awe.

"It's almost all the way down your back, my lady," he says reverently, visibly swallowing as he takes in the sight of it.

It's not that there has been an actual opportunity for many a month to get her hair looked after, but she's almost grateful for this particular side-effect of the war now that Sir Rumplestiltskin looks at her like this.

His movements are different when he reaches for her again, the comb still in his hands. His motions are yet slower and more hesitant, as if he's afraid to touch her. Just before his fingers brush her curls once more, her stomach grumbles awfully loudly, causing him to move away from her abruptly.


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you hungry, my lady?" Sir Rumplestiltskin asks carefully.

Before Belle has decided what to say, how she might soothe the obvious concern in his voice, her stomach insistently growls once more.

"I am," she sighs, never having hated her these days often empty stomach more than now that it ruins the previously wonderful moment between the knight and herself.

"Was your dinner not sufficient?"

"I haven't had dinner at all," she replies softly, not quite looking at him.

"Are you saying that all food was already eaten by the time you could join your father at his table?" he asks, more worry seeping into his tone.

"I didn't go for dinner at all."

"You don't need me to remind you that you need to sustain yourself, my lady," he says very quietly.

"I know," she says just as softly when he doesn't elaborate. "It's just… sometimes I  _forget_. And when I do get hungry… there's always people who need to eat more than I do. Who  _deserve_ more. The soldiers, the healers, the elderly and the children…"

"Please forgive me for pointing out, my lady, but none of them are the future of this castle and village, and its people.  _You_ are."

"Yes, I am their future leader, but it gets more and more difficult to imagine that there will be a future at all, that any of us have one."

"We can't allow ourselves to think like that. If we do, we might as well surrender to the Ogres tonight."

"I know," she repeats again, sighing. "And of course we won't. But the war has been going on for so long, and the threat of it yet more so. It's becoming difficult to imagine anything else, to be able to believe that there might one day be peace again."

"We will get to that moment, one day at a time," he says gently. "One  _meal_ at a time."

"That's a nice way to think about it. Although I must say that I haven't seen you often at my father's table either when I am present there myself."

"Indeed. Please don't take offense, but I prefer to eat with the soldiers… or here, alone."

"Are you trying to avoid me, good sir?" she can't help but ask, smiling to let him know that her inquiry isn't serious.

"Never, my lady. It's just… I'm badly at ease with formalities."

"I understand the appeal of not eating at my father's table" she says, vividly recalling that he earlier told her that he is lowborn, "but I do hope to see you in my father's hall more often. If only to encourage me to be there as well."

"I'll be there tomorrow morning," he says solemnly. "But that's still quite some time from now. Are you still hungry, my lady?"

"I am," she says, sensing that there's no point in ignoring, let alone denying it, and not just because her stomach can betray her again at any moment.

"Will you let me get you some food?"

"That would be lovely, but I don't see how. All food is rationed at the castle, for everyone, and there are no suitable vegetables and fruits or even roots and tubers to be found this time of year."

"There's fish in the lake. There isn't much of them, and they don't get caught easily, but I'd happily try to get a few for you."

"Good sir, I wouldn't want to burden you with…"

"Please, my lady..." he interrupts her. "Lady Belle, I…"

He falters and something inside of her flutters now that he has said her name in private for the very first time, his reverence obvious despite the accidental way he seems to have said it.

"Yes, Sir Rumplestiltskin?" she says, cherishing each and every one of the unusual syllables.

"Lady Belle," he says, considerably more purposefully and still as devotedly this time, "if you do me the great honor of becoming my wife… the very least I can do is to provide for you as well as I can."

"In that case, I'd be very happy if you'd like to catch a fish for me," she says, the fluttering inside of her intensifying at the discovery that he perceives it as an honor rather than a burden to help her … to be  _hers_. "But I would love to join you."

"I would like that," he says, returning to his tent to gather what must be his fishing supplies. She eagerly studies the line and hook he returns with, both of them looking much used, just like all his other possessions she has seen so far. "Although I wonder whether you're also interested in catching a worm for bait first?"

"I should probably ask first how you intend to do that before I tell you that I'd love to," she says teasingly.

"Nothing too horrible," he says lightly, "just let them think that it's raining, so they crawl up to the surface and we can catch them. I'll show you."

He offers her his hand, which she happily takes. They walk to a spot under the trees, where he begins to jump up and down and stamp on the ground with both his feet without announcement, not letting go of her arm.

"Like this?!" she asks, not entirely believing him even when he nods in confirmation.

Belle joins him regardless, grasping his still free hand in her own to participate in the apparent silliness. She forgets the reason they're doing this in the first place when he almost twirls her around, like some sort of spontaneous, ridiculous dance.

She giggles in reaction, not even aware just how long ago it has been that she felt so cheerful. Her giddiness only increases when he smiles faintly, the very first time he has done so in her presence… or at all for quite some time, probably.

Before she subconsciously stills to take a better look at him like this, he stands still himself to kneel down and study the ground. She follows his example, not wanting to be caught staring at his face, yet so much more beautiful now that amusement softens his eyes and smooths down some of the deep lines around them.

"There it is," he says, pulling something from the dirt. He puts it in his hand, presenting it to her with a flourish that's almost playful. It turns out that he has indeed caught a worm.

"I didn't know there were fish here at all," she says when they make their way back to the lake side. "There used to be plenty of fish in the river on the other side of the castle, but it has been dried up almost entirely because the Ogres uprooted trees and threw them over the river upstream, along with rocks and large stones. Neither ships nor fish can reach us now. My father says the Ogres are too stupid to do it on purpose, but I'm not certain. What do you think?"

"I do not know, my lady. I really do not know."

Sir Rumplestiltskin picks up the line, the hook already attached to it.

"Do you want to throw it?"

Her arms, still heavy from being exerted to their limits in their earlier archery lesson, ache in protest at the mere notion. But she's never fished before and she definitely wants to learn, so Belle nods eagerly.

"Can you show me, first?"

"Of course, if you can hold this for a moment."

He questioningly holds the worm towards her, only actually handing it to her when she nods in confirmation, briefly reminded of a long, long gone time when Gaston and she played in the mud as children. She's hardly aware of the wriggling creature in her loosely folded hands when she watches her new fiancé as he positions himself. He slowly throws the line into the water, so smoothly that he might as well have been a fisherman rather than a knight… or a spinner, for that matter.

He pulls the line back and hands it to her, taking the worm back from her to stick it on the hook. Ready to make an attempt herself, she takes the same stance as he just did, trying not to think too much of the still wriggling worm while she does so. It isn't all that difficult when he watches her with approval.

Ignoring the discomfort in her arms, she throws the line experimentally. The hook doesn't go into the water nearly as far away from the shore as it did when he showed her, but at least the line doesn't get tangled like she feared it would.

"Very good," he says, seeming a lot less surprised that she got it right at her very first try than she is herself.

"And now we wait?"

"Yes," he replies. "We can sit by the fire again if you like and…"

The quietness of the night is disturbed without warning by a gust of wind and a noise unlike Belle has ever heard before. The sound is relatively soft but the tone of it has goosebumps raising all over her body.

Sir Rumplestiltskin has dropped the fishing line and jumps between her and whatever the source of the horrible sound might be before she fully realizes that something is going on in the first place, drawing his sword so quickly that she can't see the metal move while tension radiates off his body almost tangibly.

Even if it wouldn't have been for the knight's reaction, even though she has never actually heard the awful sound before, she knows almost immediately exactly what the low howling signifies.

" _Ogres_ ," they mutter simultaneously.

The wind moves the trees behind them and ripples the lake, more forcefully than before, but only for a moment. When the breeze calms, the sound that spooked them dies down.

"The wind carries their sound," Belle realizes, slightly relaxing. "They must still be many miles away."

"They're advancing on the castle," her fiancé says bitterly, not loosening his protective stance only slightly, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword.

"We've expected they would for weeks. It was a matter of time. But they can't have progressed much from where our scouts spotted them yesterday."

His back is still towards her, but the still not ceasing tension in his body is obvious to her.

"If anything, Ogres are  _slow_ ," Belle says, their incapability of moving rapidly never having been so reassuring to her before. To her disappointment, the knight doesn't seem to share that sentiment. "They can't march by daylight at any rate. We are still safe for now at least."

It's like her fiancé doesn't hear her at all, like he still hears the Ogres howling despite the silence that has fallen around them once more.

"Sir Rumplestiltskin?" she asks, concern of a different kind taking over. "There's nothing you can do now, none of us can, at least not here at the castle. Our guards and scouts are on duty. They will raise the alarm when the time is there. We will know when they come, but it won't be tonight."

She carefully places her hands on his shoulders, hoping that her touch will be comforting to him - and that the circumstances that caused her to reach out for him like this in the first place had been better.

He practically jumps at her tentative touch, as if he has forgotten that she was there altogether, as if he's  _afraid_ of her... or whoever – or  _what_ ever - he thought her to be instead.

Belle intuitively steps backwards while he shiftily turns around to face her, his still drawn sword now pointed at her and his eyes wide and dark.

"Sir Rumplestiltskin?" she asks with a quiver in a voice, for a moment barely recognizing the man she has grown to know and cherish as her future husband.

"Yes," he says roughly, blinking a few times in quick succession as he lowers his sword.

"You were going to catch me dinner," she reminds him kindly, her heart racing as she hopes to get back to some sense of normalcy.

"Yes," he says again, shaking off at last whatever it was that came over him. "Yes, I was. I  _will_."

"Let's go then," she says, pointing at the fishing line which he dropped earlier.

He sheaths his sword and picks up the line, looking rather lost once he has done so.

"It's a matter of waiting now to see if a fish will bite, isn't it?" she asks.

Sir Rumplestiltskin nods, but makes no move to do or say anything else.

"Well then," she says, "we might as well make ourselves comfortable in the mean time."

Trusting that the line will be long enough and not wanting to touch him again for the time being, Belle gestures for him to follow her back to the logs next to the fire where they sat earlier. She barely dares to hope that she might be able to bring back at least a hint of the joy that they shared only a few minutes ago. 


	9. Chapter 9

"Here we are," Belle says with cheerfulness she doesn't actually feel when they return to the fire where they previously spent such peaceful moments. "Let's sit down and warm ourselves."

Sir Rumplestiltskin only does as she suggests when she gives the right example and gently but insistingly pulls at his sleeve.

"Why don't you hold the fishing line while I put some more wood on the fire?" she asks.

He doesn't reply, but he does take the line when she offers it to him. Her mind filled with both worry and curiosity over his sudden change in behavior, she isn't all that surprised when he's sitting exactly where she left him when she returns with a few pieces of wood. His body is as tense and his gaze is as highly alert as before, despite the night being still as quiet as it was before the howling sound of the faraway Ogres reached them on a strong gust of wind.

His face is too pale and yet more devoid of any emotion than usual, which makes her wonder whether he has suppressed feelings he once had - highly painful feelings, no doubt - for so long that he has forgotten how to feel altogether.

"Please know that I'm very willing to listen to whatever you want to say to me," she says quietly as she brings the fire back to life, hoping that at least some of the warmth will reach him. "No matter what you want to talk about."

She didn't truly expect him to take up on the offer, not straight away at least, but to her pleasant surprise he looks at her, blinking a few times until his previously unseeing eyes focus on her once more after all.

"The Ogres killed someone who was very precious to me," he says, his voice so quiet that she barely hears it over the crackling of the fire.

"I'm very sorry," she replies, suppressing the urge to ask him for more details as he doesn't elaborate, knowing that it's for the best if he shares the things he wants to tell her on his own accord.

When the silence between them lengthens once more, Belle processes what he just revealed, that he too is one of the many who lost a loved one because of the mindless violence of the Ogres. She wonders who he lost; a parent perhaps, a sibling… or a woman, a woman he might have loved deeply and would have married if fate had been less cruel. A woman whom he might have wanted to marry rather than  _her_.

"It's been said that the pain of loss gets easier to bear in time," he adds eventually. "But I've found that it doesn't."

"Me too," she says quietly, thinking of those she lost herself. "My mother was murdered by Ogres when I was only a little girl."

"I'm so very sorry to hear that, my lady," he says, some more of his usual caring self resurfacing.

"We have to fight for what is left," she adds thoughtfully. "We have to survive. If only for the sake of those we lost."

"Well said," he says, visibly considering her words, relaxing a little more.

Still, there is a grim sadness lingering over him, one which she senses in herself as well, which couldn't be further away from their earlier joy which she hoped to recapture.

"We can't give up," she says, encouraged, placing her hand between them on the log on which they're sitting once more. "Even when there's no hope left, we can't give up."

Sir Rumplestiltskin slowly but surely reaches for her hand, covering it with his own when she nods. He squeezes it lightly and she briefly closes her eyes in gratitude for being able to help him escape from the darkness that overcame him.

"Thank you," he breathes, shifting his hand until he can take hers in his own, entwining their fingers. "Thank you so much."

"And I thank you, good sir," she says, the increased contact raising her own spirits as well.

"Before I met you, I couldn't have hoped… it means the world to me that you are so understanding, Lady Belle."

"I'm very glad that you think so. I myself am relieved that… well, that you allow me to do and say as I did before we met. It means very much to me that you teach me to fight and fend for myself rather than forbid it."

She almost adds that most men - any men she has ever known, really, including her own father and her former fiancé - wouldn't have shared his opinion on the matter. Thinking back on the moment they enjoyed before her stomach disturbed it however, she has a better idea.

Belle vividly recalls that he told her that tidying her hair soothes him… and that she felt wonderfully calm herself when he combed her unruly tresses earlier. Said hair is a lot less messy now, but it's currently still streaming down her back, wild and untied.

"Now that we're trying to catch a fish, how about you finish what you started before my stomach interrupted?" she suggests, gesturing at the pocket where he put the comb when he gathered the fishing supplies.

"I'd like that," he says, his face softening ever so slightly as he retrieves the comb again and returns the fishing line to her when she holds out her hand for it. "What would you like me to do with it now?"

"Can you braid my hair?"

"I'd love to, my lady, but… I've never braided anyone's hair before. I don't know if I can do it."

"Would you like to try it? I'll show you how to do it, of course!"

"I'd really like that," he says, looking at her as if he's made him the luckiest man alive simply because she asked him to braid her hair for her.

"Wonderful," she replies, a smile of a kind that seemed so unlikely only a moment ago making its way to her face.

"Can I first comb it some more?" he asks with an eagerness that's both endearing and something that Belle likes yet more, although she can't quite define it.

"Of course you can," Belle says, shivering pleasantly at the prospect.

Turning her back towards him once more, she sighs in delight when he continues right where he left off earlier. Taking one handful of her hair after the other, he runs the comb through her tresses again and again with incredible carefulness and reverence.

"Why don't you continue without the comb? That will make it easier to learn how to braid," she suggests after a while, although actual braiding is the last thing on her mind when she imagines feeling his hands in her hair.

Belle sighs in delight when the knight questioningly runs his hands through her curls, his touches yet more worshipful and tentative now that he isn't using a comb any longer.

"Just like that," she whispers in approval, her eyes fluttering closed.

Obviously having all the approval he needed, Sir Rumplestiltskin moves his fingers through her hair over and over again, twirling curls around his finger every once in a while. Just when she thinks that his attention can't get any more pleasant than this, she's aware that he slightly leans in to her, brushing his face against her curls and inhaling deeply.

His actions have a wonderful sort of warmth gathering and spreading all throughout her, especially when Belle recalls that he earlier washed her hair with his own soap. Wondering what it might be like for him to smell his soap on her and wanting to wordlessly let him know that she still very much approves of his actions, she leans back against him and reaches behind her to rest her hand on his knee.

The ever so quiet sound he makes in response is difficult to recognize, but she is quite certain that he  _groans_  because of the increased contact. It causes the sensations swirling within her to increase as well, as insistent as the hunger she has known in the past few months.

But before she can figure out what it means, where else all of this might lead to, the fishing line she's still holding in her free hand, if only very loosely so, is almost pulled from between her fingers. Her startled reaction alerts him, drawing his attention - and his hands - away from her hair.

"You caught a fish!" he exclaims.

"I did?!" she cries out with the same enthusiasm, barely believing that she has actually caught a fish, just like that.

"Why don't you get it to the shore? Just pull the line towards you."

Belle does as he instructs and before she knows it, she's holding a small but very edible looking fish in her hands. Despite her sense of accomplishment, she is glad when the knight takes the floundering fish from her and retrieves his dagger, ending the animal's frantic movements with a single, determined gesture.

"Would roasted fish be agreeable to you, my lady?" he asks hesitantly, as if he fears that his offer isn't good enough for her.

"It sounds perfect!" she says, her mouth watering at the prospect.

Making herself comfortable on the log once more, Belle watches him intently as he expertly prepares to roast the fish above the fire on a stick of wood. The scent of it alone has her stomach growling once more, but it's a lot less bothersome than usual, even with him around to hear it, now that there's actually some food to fill her belly with.

After he has roasted the animal above the fire, Sir Rumpelstiltskin proudly hands the stick with the fish still pierced onto it to her. His meaningful expression leaves no doubt whatsoever that he doesn't want her to share the fish with him.

"It's still hot," he warns her.

Belle nods in understanding, grateful for the reminder. It's almost a torment to watch the delicious treat without being able to eat it just yet, but the knowledge that her fiancé went through all this trouble to make her feel better is thoroughly fulfilling in its own way.

Prodding the fish with her fingers every once in a while, it eventually reaches a temperature which won't burn her mouth. Yet more than before, Belle wants to devour the fish, but she doesn't give in to temptation. She eats it as slowly as she can instead, knowing that it'll last longer that way, savoring each and every single bite.

The impromptu meal that her fiancé prepared for her is the best thing she has ever eaten. It's gone far too quickly, of course, but only after she has licked her fingers clean. She is barely aware of the sound of enjoyment she lets out while sampling the last of the wonderful taste off her fingers… or at least, until she can practically feel the knight looking at her.

Meeting his gaze, she finds his eyes widening yet further. Only then realizing that she still has her index finger and ring finger in her mouth, Belle quickly withdraws them in an as ladylike manner as she can. It hardly surprises her that her attempt to save the situation utterly fails, but she forgets about that as soon as her reaction has something which seems to be disappointment appearing on his face.

"What is it?" she asks, not understanding.

"Nothing, my lady," he says, sounding rather confused himself. "It's just that I…"

"Yes?" she asks, studying her fingers in a vain attempt to find out what he is reacting to.

"I… your fingers, the  _taste_ … would you permit me to…"

He gestures at her hands, which only further confuses her; after all, the digits can't possibly still taste like roasted fish. If anything, they probably taste like  _her_  after she just licked them clean repeatedly and… she gasps when it dawns on her at last what he's trying to ask her.

"I permit you," she says hoarsely, offering her hand to him.

Belle doesn't entirely know what she just agreed to, what it might mean exactly when her fiancé takes her hand in his own, once more quivering ones. But she has grown to trust him as much as she trusts herself and she wants the same thing as he does, although she doesn't entirely understand it.

Both of them are groaning when he slips her index finger between his lips, swirling his tongue around it and suckling lightly on the digit when she makes no move to pull away. Her middle finger receives the same treatment, and so do her other fingers, his sounds of enjoyment vibrating around them.

"Gods…" she mutters, the sensations inside of her becoming positively demanding, although she doesn't quite know what they are so insistingly asking for.

After all, none of her books ever mentioned anything like  _this_ … and neither did the maids and her governesses, when she still had them.

Sir Rumplestiltskin withdraws abruptly, his face flushed and his eyes darker than she has ever seen them as he carefully places her hand back in her lap. Her heart beating wildly in delight and wonder alike, Belle dismisses the strange instinct to take her fingers in her own mouth again, to try to taste  _him_ rather than the wonderful food he just prepared for her.

"I… I don't know whether I should apologize or not, my lady," he says, not quite meeting her gaze.

"You don't have to, good sir," she breathes, her cheeks reddening further. "I won't pretend to know what you… what  _we_ just did, but I liked it, very much so."

"I don't quite know either, but… I liked it very much, too."

Belle is by now beyond expecting no more from her marriage than a smart political match, an alliance that might ensure the survival of her people for at least one more generation. Against all odds, she is gradually starting to think that there might be companionship, protection and affection in her future marriage as well now that she's getting to know her fiancé.

But  _this_ , this… desire… she has no words for it, has no point of reference for it. Belle craves it however, in a way that has nothing whatsoever to do with the things she usually strives for… in a way that has her thinking that her wedding night - and any nights thereafter - might be better and  _more_  than being tedious and uncomfortable, or even painful.

"It's getting late, my lady," he says, clearly keen to change the subject, as if all of this is as new and slightly unsettling to him as it is to her. "Will you permit me to escort you back to your quarters?"

"Gladly," she says, standing up and offering him her arm.


	10. Chapter 10

It's hardly a relief to Belle that the infirmary is filled with only a few badly injured men. Of course, the fewer wounded people there are the better, but she knows only too well that this is only the beginning. She refuses to think that it's the beginning of the end, but it isn't easy to ignore that thought.

After all, the fighting hasn't even really begun yet. There were merely a few skirmishes between a dozen of soldiers from their most advanced outpost and several Ogres which diverted from the main group, to see how their new tactics work in practice. All the attacked Ogres were killed - the first time the soldiers actually managed anything like it - but with two of their own dead and four injured, of whom two gravely, it's a bleak victory.

Still, it is a relief of sorts that it's quiet and relatively peaceful in the infirmary for now at least. Her belly cramps as badly as it has done for several days during each of the past few months, her womb striving in vain to prepare for the conception of a child which her body isn't strong enough to sustain.

The fish which Sir Rumpelstiltskin catches for her – and the other food he'd probably somehow get her if he  _knew_ \- might eventually return her body to the state it once had, but his efforts so far have only succeeded in taking the worst edge of her hunger.

Washing her hands now that all men under her care are bandaged and treated to the best of her and the other nurses' abilities, Belle hopes that the relatively good conditions of the patients allow her to leave earlier than usual. The cramps will hardly be any less unpleasant in her hard and cold bed, but at least she won't have to pretend there that everything is fine with her. After all,  _she_ is not the one who is actually injured.

Indeed, even in combination with her aching arms - a side effect of the archery lesson two days ago - her situation can't be compared to those of the bloodied, amputated men in the beds. So Belle ignores the discomfort as best as she can while she makes another round through the room, distributing some of the few herbs against the pain which they still have among the wounded men.

When she is almost done, mentally already crawling underneath the thin blanket that covers her bed, she sees Sir Rumplestiltskin making his way into the infirmary. He briefly talks to all of the men which are still awake, no doubt to hear about their experiences in today's battle.

She watches him with curiosity from the corners of her eyes. It's the first time she actually sees him interact with soldiers rather than their commanders and she's hardly surprised that all the men treat him with the respect she expected.

When Sir Rumplestiltskin approaches her, there's something in his gaze and posture that informs her that he has come here for  _her_. Belle straightens herself, not wanting him to know of her discomfort and the underlying cause.

"I was told I might find you here," he says, shifting on his feet in a way that makes her think that he is nervous, although it's entirely beyond her why talking to her might evoke such a reaction.

"You have found me," she replies, not knowing what else to say as she puts a protective hand on her aching belly.

"I'm glad," he says, his face softening in the way it seems to do whenever he looks at her. "It's been less than a day since I saw you at your father's table, but I… I miss you, my lady."

"I miss you as well," she says, smiling a little, all thoughts of injuries and pain momentarily forgotten.

"I'd like to spend some time with you this evening, if you're available… and if you don't object, of course."

"I'd love to," she replies, just when particularly harsh cramps have her doubling over in pain.

"Lady Belle!" he cries out, reaching out to support her weight.

"It's nothing," she manages to bring out, needing to lean on him to push herself back in a standing position.

"Please forgive me, my lady, but this doesn't look like 'nothing'," he says, his gaze on her more intent than ever before while he looks for injuries which he won't find.

"I'm not hurt, good sir," she tries to reassure him. "There's no need to worry."

"But you are hurting," he says, right when she can't help but wince in pain again. "Please, tell me what I can do to help you."

"I'll manage, really," she says, deeply touched by his concern but remembering only too well that her last governess told her that men ought not to know of the trouble of women.

"At least tell me what ails you?" he asks, his eyes pleading. "I can't stand to see you hurt like this, especially when I don't know what's causing you such pain."

"It's only my time of the month, sir," she says, bracing herself with protesting arms on the table in front of her, trying to breathe through the pain as she bows her head.

"Your time of what?" he asks, sounding so confused that she looks up after all.

"My monthly cycle," she adds, trying to be as delicate as she can.

"Your what?" he asks, only more bewildered.

"I'm  _bleeding_ ," she replies, even though it's technically not true. Unfortunately, the knight clearly doesn't understand the emphasis she put on the last word in the way she hoped he would.

Sir Rumplestiltskin's eyes widen in shock, but the way they move over her once more give her the distinct impression that he's looking for the wrong type of source for the blood.

"I'm bleeding from the inside, like I do every month. It's perfectly natural and not dangerous," she tries to quietly reassure him while the cramps are becoming yet more demanding. "It's something that women experience when they're not expecting a child."

"I… I didn't know that," he says, looking rather horrified.

"It's no matter. I've always been told not to talk about it and I'm hardly the only woman who has been raised like that."

The cramps choose that very moment to leave her gasping again, one of her hands instinctively going back to her belly.

"Lady Belle, please… there must be something I can do. Is there a medicine of sorts you require? Do you want me to fetch someone who can help you?"

"None of that, sir. But if you could help me get to my bedroom… I'll feel better already if I can just lie down."

"Of course!" he says, sounding relieved that he can do something to help her. Any reluctance she felt about her fiancé having to assist like this is gone when he carefully places his arm around her waist, supporting her weight.

They make their way in that manner to the nearest staircase, the extent to which he helps her walk increasing which each subsequent, slower step. Belle halts altogether when they are right in front of the stairs, her belly feeling like it contains a stone so heavy that she can't take one more step, even with his help.

"Shall I carry you, my lady?" he asks quietly, slightly tightening his hold on her.

Knowing that this is the only option to reach her bed at all, she nods in agreement. She sighs in relief when he carefully places one arm around her shoulders and the other one beneath her knees, easily lifting her and carrying her up the stairs, straight towards her bedroom through thankfully deserted hallways.

Belle gratefully buries her face in the crook of his head and shoulder, her sore arms clinging around his neck. She couldn't care less that they must look like they just got married and that he carries her to their chambers for their first night as husband and wife. Instead, she is despite the not ceasing discomfort glad to have found another aspect of her future marriage which she couldn't have dreamed of.

Sir Rumplestiltskin looks around for her bed as soon as he has brought her to her chambers, heading straight towards it once he has seen it. He lies her down on the mattress with a tentativeness which almost brings tears to her eyes, pulling the blanket over her when she curls up on herself.

"Are there any other blankets?" he asks, looking around the room.

She shakes her head in denial, pressing her face against her thin pillow so she doesn't have to see his expression, of which she just  _knows_ that it is one of shock.

"You can get my cloak. It's over there, on the chair."

Rather than one, she feels him laying two layers over her. Peeking up from beneath her hair, she sees that he has given her his own cloak as well, the considerably thicker material providing more warmth than her own blanket and cloak combined.

"Thank you so much, good sir."

"There must be  _something_ that might ease your pain," he says, the tension in his voice audible, as if he has no idea whatsoever that he has done so much for her already. "Is there a medicine I can get for you from the infirmary?"

"No, no. Herbs to relieve pain are for the wounded."

"The way I see it, you  _are_ wounded, my lady."

"It'll pass," she attempts to reassure him once more. "I'll feel better in a few hours."

"Please, isn't there anything I can do for you to help you in the mean time? I… I do not want to see you in such discomfort, Lady Belle."

She thinks of the bottle she used to fill with hot water, in a time when water, firewood and glass bottles weren't almost exclusively used for the war effort, right when her small, chilly hand finds her stomach in an attempt to bring some comfort - to absolutely no avail whatsoever.

He takes her other hand in his, his large, warm palm covering the back of her hand, looking at her helplessly. Unable to think straight, Belle immediately gives in to the inspiration that this provides.

She rolls onto her back and pushes away the layers of fabric he just put there, grasping his hand. Hardly able to give it a second thought, she presses his palm against her stomach, sighing when his warmth seeps into her, soothing her inner muscles. Only when he looks at her in bewilderment, it dawns on her that he has no idea whatsoever why she's practically wordlessly demanding him to touch her like this.

"It helps," she says through clenched teeth.

He nods with relief before she can think of a way to explain  _why_ it helps, something she doesn't quite know herself.

"My lady, if I may ask... what's causing all this? The… bleeding you mentioned? The pain?"

"I don't know," she sighs, wishing that she did if only so the pain that comes and goes each moon might make more sense. "It has something to do with bearing children, but no one seems to know  _how_  and I haven't been able to find out myself."

His look of shock and horror is turning into one of bewildered admiration, the most vivid reminder she's had so far that he is in all likelihood going to father any children she might have. For the first time, she wonders whether Sir Rumpelstiltskin likes children, whether he genuinely wants to be a father… and whether she should tell him that she can't give him the heir which he must be hoping for in at least the short run.

"Why don't you sit down?" she asks, rather focusing on the way he awkwardly bends downward from his standing position on the side of her bed to accommodate his soothing touch than the awareness that she can't tell him that some of the consequences of war have made her body unsuitable for bearing children for now.

If he's reluctant to sit down while she's curled on her bed, the knight doesn't show it when he seats himself at her side, never removing his hand from her.

"Does this help?" he asks, looking at her with wide eyes while he pulls the blanket and cloaks both over her and his lower arm with his free hand.

"It does," she replies, taking his hand to press it a bit more firmly against her stomach. "The pain isn't gone, but it's more bearable."

"I'm very glad. If there's anything else I can do…"

She can't ask any more of him, not after everything he has done for her already, but he looks like he actually  _hopes_ that he can assist her in another way. If they were already married, she might ask him to crawl into bed with her, to pull her body flush against his so she can feel considerably more of his warmth, or to place his palm directly on her bare skin.

"Anything at all," he adds meaningfully, as if he  _knows_ what she's thinking of… as if he doesn't mind the prospect of being with her like this, in her  _bed_ , to do nothing but comfort her.

There is, however, something almost equally appealing that she can request.

"Stay with me?" she asks softly, her hand finding his on her stomach. "Until I fall asleep?"

"It would be my great honor, Lady Belle," he says, his other hand going questioningly to the pins still holding her curls up.

"Thank you," she whispers, nodding in approval.

She relaxes when Sir Rumplestiltskin unceremoniously kicks off his boots and leans back against the headboard of her bed, after he has released her curls. The cramps yet less insistent when he gently rubs her belly with one hand and caresses her hair with the other, Belle smiles a little as she closes her eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

"Baelfire…"

Belle wakes with a jolt, her sleep interrupted by a sudden noise right next to her. Her belly aching in protest, she rubs the sleep from her eyes, trying to orientate herself. The moonlit room and the bed are familiar; the shape at her side is not.

"Don't… don't hurt him…"

She recognizes her fiancé's voice, but for a moment she doesn't know why he appears to be sleeping at her side. Then again, 'sleeping' hardly seems the right term to describe him as he thrashes on the other side of the narrow bed, almost falling off. A blanket and what appears to be his cloak are already on the floor.

"Please…"

The sight of the blanket and the cloak reminds her of the previous evening, when he carefully put the layers of fabric over her to keep her warm. The memories come rushing back then and she recalls how she asked the knight to stay with her until she fell asleep, his warmth and gentleness making her feel considerably better.

None of that explains however why he is in bed with her, let alone why it sounds like someone is trying to kill him - or rather, both him and someone else.

It is soon very clear to Belle however that her fiancé is suffering from an awful nightmare, and that she wants to end his anguish as quickly as possible.

"Sir Rumplestiltskin," she whispers, turning on her side to face him while making certain to keep just out of reach of his frantically moving limbs.

He doesn't react so she says his name again, more loudly this time. It doesn't help.

"Sir!" she says, yet louder, reaching for his shoulder.

His eyes, dark and unseeing, burst open as soon as her fingers brush his body. There's a blur of movement and then she's thrown onto her back, the knight pinning her to the mattress with his dagger biting against her throat.

Belle shrieks in shock, not understanding what's happening. She struggles instinctively, but there's no way that she can escape from him now that he pushes her down like this, his body weight keeping her down.

"Sir Rumplestiltskin, please," she cries out when the pressure of the dagger against her skin increases. "It's me,  _Belle_."

There must be something in those words, perhaps in the way she says his name or the fact that she identifies herself as if her name means something to him even now, that has him going still, very still above her.

After a few seconds of no movement at all, neither of them breathing, he scrambles away from her as quickly as he held her down, the dagger clattering noisily to the floor.

"My lady," he gasps, his eyes wide in shock for a whole different reason now. "I am so,  _so_ sorry. I… there's no way I can sufficiently apologize for…"

The knight has moved to the other side of the room, the way his gaze flies to the door informing her that he thinks he isn't nearly as far away from her as he should be – not yet, anyway. Belle reaches for her throat while she considers the situation, to her relief finding no blood there.

"Why don't you explain what happened first?" she asks, her voice trembling, "so I know what you're apologizing for exactly?"

"I shouldn't even be still with you," he says, shaking his head and looking at her helplessly.

"You shouldn't stay here if  _you_  don't want to, but please don't leave on my account," she says as she massages the skin of her throat, sensing that her fiancé is once more his own, gentle self now that he is fully awake.

"You are exactly the reason why I have to leave," he says, looking at her pleadingly. "You… you can't trust me like this, my lady."

"I think I can," she says, slowly but determinedly swinging her feet over the edge of the bed.

Standing up, Belle carefully makes her way towards the knight in the corner of her room, reaching a soothing arm to him.

"Why don't you help me understand what was happening to you?"

He makes no move to approach her, but to her relief he takes her hand when she offers it to him.

"I was dreaming. I thought… I thought you were an  _Ogre_ ," he groans, looking at her in terror over that mistake. "I was dreaming and I thought that I… that I had to  _kill_ you to escape alive."

"You thought you were somewhere else, somewhere dangerous."

He nods, his shoulders sagging further as he bows his head.

"I got confused," he says, very quietly. "When I sleep, I… I often get confused. I hope…  _hoped_ that you would never have to find out."

"And now I have," she concludes, her heart aching by the misery that comes over him at those words… at the realization that he might have worried about this from the moment it became clear to him that he is going to have to share his nights – his  _bed -_  with someone. "But I can try to help, now that I know."

"You  _want_ to do that, don't you?" he asks softly, looking at her as if he can't believe that she's real… as if he has gotten lost in a dream rather than in a nightmare.

"I do," she says firmly, squeezing his hand.

He sighs, but looks slightly less tense when he steps towards her, kicking the dagger aside as he does so. The knight sits down next to her when she seats herself on the edge of her bed. Recovering from what just happened, the cramps in her belly demand her attention again.

"Let me at least apologize for… for still being here. You asked me to stay until you fell asleep. Not… afterwards."

"It's all right, really. I didn't think about it. I probably would have asked you to stay if you liked if I had."

"I'm… I'm glad," he says, sounding a little as if he still can't believe that this is really happening. "I enjoyed staying. You fell asleep quite quickly and I told myself you'd feel better if I kept my hand on your stomach. But at the same time… I didn't want to go because I like watching you sleep. I shouldn't have stayed for that reason."

Shame and guilt are written all over his face when he glances at her through the curtain of hair that's shielding most of his expression from her eyes once more.

"I'm glad that you stayed," she replies, smiling encouragingly at him while she wonders whether she is the first woman he has watched sleep… his first  _fiancée_ , at least.

"But when I had the nightmare, when I got… confused… you didn't want  _that_. I should have told you about it at least before… before exposing you to that risk."

"I wish you had been comfortable enough with me to tell me about it," she says, even as she thinks of the things she hasn't told  _him_ , things he perhaps - probably - should know. "But I think I know why you don't. I understand that."

"I do want to tell you things. To  _share_ things with you. But I often don't know how."

"All you have to do is start somewhere, I think."

She takes his hand and brings it back to her belly. More than longing for his warmth as such, she wants to let him know that she still wishes for his presence, that she still  _trusts_ him. Sir Rumplestiltskin relaxes a little more in response, as if the touch is anchoring him rather than the other way around this time.

"Are you still hurting, Lady Belle?"

"I am, but not nearly as much as before. It helps if you touch me like this, good sir. And even if it didn't… it feels nice in other ways, too."

"It does," he replies, pressing his hand slightly more firmly against her.

"You called out a name in your sleep," she says, thinking back on the first thing she remembers when she woke up, and on the time he told her that he lost someone because of the Ogres. "Can you tell me about him, if you like?"

"Baelfire," he sighs, lowering his head again but shifting slightly closer towards her as he does so. "He was my squire. But often, it felt like he was… like he was my son."

The knight sighs deeply, clearly finding it difficult to speak. Belle moves a little closer to him in reaction as well.

"I met him not long after King David had knighted me. Baelfire was hardly more than a boy, abandoned by his parents when they went to sail the seas. He sneaked into the camp one night, trying to steal my rations. I caught him, but I took an almost immediate liking to him. He got the inane idea of becoming my squire; I didn't have one yet and he said any knight should. I told him he was far too young, but…"

Sir Rumplestiltskin shakes his head, his regret almost tangible.

"I should have insisted that he couldn't go with me. But I didn't. It was…  _nice_ to have someone come with me. Watching Bae grow up… it was like a miracle. He was such a good boy. It's only luck that got me where I am now, but he… he would have  _deserved_ to be a knight. He was strong and well-spoken, and very, very brave.  _I_ should have been the one who..."

He trembles, what appear to be tears gathering in his eyes. To her relief, he looks at her gratefully when she reaches for him and allows her to place her palm on his lower arm in an attempt to support him.

"We were traveling by ourselves one day when we stumbled upon a village tormented by three Ogres. The people tried to defend themselves, but they didn't stand a chance. They were being  _slaughtered_ , but there were several people still able to walk, a few children among them. I thought we could help them escape if we could distract the Ogres for just a few moments."

The expression of the knight becomes grim, his glistening eyes staring off into the distance as if he's still experiencing that day.

"We agreed that I would catch the Ogres' attention and that Bae would help the people get away. I  _told_ him not to wait or come back under any circumstances. I was fairly confident that I could get away after setting fire to a cart with hay right behind them, but…"

"You didn't," Belle concludes quietly, quivering herself as well.

"The hay didn't catch fire as quickly as I had thought and... one of them got me. Snatched me up by my legs as if I weighed nothing at all. One of the others took my sword and the third forced my arms behind my back. I couldn't reach for my dagger, I couldn't  _move_ … I couldn't do anything. I knew it was the end and I told myself that it didn't matter because at least the people were escaping."

He looks at her desperately and she moves closer to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and guiding his head to her neck.

"Bae appeared out of nowhere and  _attacked_ them… he came back for me and threw himself with nothing but his sword at the Ogre which was holding me. He couldn't have won against three men and these… they weren't men. But the Ogres dropped me and…"

Sir Rumplestiltskin turns his body towards her, his arms going around her while he presses his face more firmly against her neck, as if she offers him solace from the horrors of his past.

"They got Baelfire instead of me. I got my sword back and I managed to move outside their reach, but… they had  _him_. Bae, he… he asked me to run. He  _begged_ me to save myself when one of the Ogres came towards me."

The knight wraps his arms more tightly around her, warm droplets of liquid splashing onto her skin where his face is touching it.

"There was no way I could leave him to die, let a  _boy_ sacrifice himself for me, but… I did. Gods, Belle, I  _did_. I just… I just  _stood_ there. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't even move or  _think_."

She is crying herself when her fiancé sobs in her arms, his entire body shuddering with each hard-won breath he takes.

"They tore him to pieces right in front of me," he whimpers, his words barely audible. "And when the two other Ogres rushed towards me as well… I  _ran_. I got back on my horse just in time and I  _fled_. But I should have… I should have  _done_  something. Avenging Baelfire was the least I could have done for him, but I couldn't even do  _that_."

"I'm so,  _so_  sorry," she manages to say, trying to comprehend what it might be like to experience what he has. "The way I see it, there's nothing you could have done to prevent what happened that day. But you  _are_ avenging Baelfire - by fighting the Ogres, by  _defeating_ them."

"I  _know_  that I couldn't have saved Bae, but I keep telling myself that I might have had a chance to do something… that  _he_ might have had a chance if only I had been faster or stronger, if I had thought of something or…"

Belle doesn't know how to soothe him with words, for it feels like anything she might be able to say is grossly insufficient compared to the loss he suffered, the injustice that was done to the brave boy who clearly meant so much to him. All she can do is hold on to the knight, stroking his back with gentle hands until he eventually goes still in her arms.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep?" she suggests when she realizes just how exhausted she is, presuming that he is in a similar state.

"I'll leave you in peace, yes," he says, hastily standing up, as if he thinks that her suggestion has nothing to do with his rest as well.

"You could sleep here, if you like," she says, gesturing at her bed. "You helped me sleep earlier tonight. It would mean a lot to me if I can do the same for you."

"You would do that?" he rasps, his eyes red, wet and utterly disbelieving. "After what I just told you? After what I did to you when you woke me right before that?!"

"I would," she simply replies.

"After knowing what I can do even though I don't mean it, what I  _didn't_  do… you'd still let me stay here, with you?"

"I would," she says again, standing up as well, "and I would sleep better for it."

She picks up the dagger he dropped earlier and lays it down on the floor on the opposite side of the room, so he won't be able to intuitively reach for it and use it against her once more in case his nightmares get the better of him again. Wordlessly, he removes his sword and its sheath from his person, handing them to her.

Belle lies down on the far side of her narrow bed, gathering their improvised blankets and patting at the empty space next to her. She nods with a small smile when his hands questioningly move to take off his jerkin, leaving him in a white shirt and brown breeches.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin awkwardly sits down on the edge of the bed, everything about him tentative when he lies down next to her.

"My Lady, would you permit me to…" he asks, glancing downwards.

Her disappointment that he has returned to addressing her formally after using her given name when he broke down is gone when she understands what he's asking.

She sighs in contentment when he scoots down on the bed until he can bury his face against her stomach, and so does he when his arm carefully goes around her torso to hold on to her.

Belle pulls the blanket and cloaks over them as soon as he has settled himself, curling herself around him protectively. Wanting to shield her fiancé from his past and his nightmares - from the war that's coming for them - she strokes his hair, not ceasing her touches when he soon begins to snore lightly.


	12. Chapter 12

Despite the reports of Ogres marching on the castle and her fiancé's increasing restlessness and grimness - or maybe,  _because_ of it - Belle is reluctant to part from the knight when their latest archery lesson is over, long after the sun has set.

Sir Rumplestiltskin is yet more quiet than usual when they make their way back to the castle, alert as always when he escorts her back to her chambers. When they arrive there, it's the memory of waking with him in her arms that morning that has her longing to spend more time with him in a somewhat relaxed manner now that they still can.

The triumph that she felt earlier that night, when she managed to hit most of the targets he set in motion for her, gives her the courage to rest her hand meaningfully on his arm when he opens the door to her room for her, and her alone.

"There's something I want to show you," Belle says, spurred on as well by the flicker of surprise that's visible on his face for a short moment.

There's no actual, urgent reason for her to ask him to join her in her private chambers like there was last night, when his attentions considerably soothed her by now fortunately mostly decreased monthly pains. But no matter what he thinks of what could be considered a highly inappropriate invitation, the knight follows her into her room anyway with a curt nod.

"I remember what you said about spinning, how you miss doing so. It got me thinking…" She trails off momentarily, recalling the story about Baelfire he told her the previous night and the way the horrors of his past so clearly still haunt him. "I hoped you might feel better if you could enjoy your old trade again."

Belle guides him to a moonlit corner of her room, right beneath the largest window, showing him the item that was delivered there a few hours ago.

"You got me a  _wheel_?" he asks, the sheer surprised joy in his voice causing her to smile a little.

"I did."

"How did you get it?!"

"I got it from the village, from a family where it had become… abundant."

Belle is relieved when that explanation seems to satisfy him and she won't have to taint his delight by having to add that the family gave her the wheel in response to her inquiries because they had no more use for it since the original owner died several months ago.

"There's wool as well," he marvels, stepping towards the wheel and the accompanying low stool that was given to her as well while he slips out of his cloak.

"Show me how it works?" she gently requests while she does the same, overjoyed that he takes such delight in her present.

The knight nods, seating himself on the stool. She goes to stand beside him; she'd have a better view from behind him, but she has learned by now how her fiancé sometimes reacts to her voice or touch when it is received from somewhere he can't see her.

"It's been years…  _decades_ since I've done this," he mutters while he plucks at the wool with his strong yet careful fingers.

His movements are indeed hesitant and somewhat awkward at first, but before long he has positioned the wool and turns the wheel like he has done so all his life after all. Belle barely looks at the thread he's successfully creating though, far too focused on her fiancé himself while he works with deep concentration.

To her surprise and joy, Sir Rumplestiltskin visibly relaxes as he does the work he once did for a living, his face clearly softening a little and some of the usual tension leaving his shoulders and back. Recalling the events of the previous night, she is yet happier than she would have been otherwise to see the soothing effect this activity turns out to have on him.

Although she also knows that her fiancé can be affected in such a way by  _her_ as well, Belle's motives aren't entirely altruistic when she clears her throat and purposefully steps towards him, carefully reminding him of her presence.

"Do you object if I come sit with you?"

"Not in the slightest, my lady. In fact, I would appreciate it very much. If you don't object to watching me spin, of course. I would gladly participate in a more… engaging activity you prefer."

If he had been any other man, Belle would have presumed him to refer to a whole different way in which a man and a woman might spend time in a lady's private chambers. However, she doesn't need to closely examine her fiancé's expression to know that he isn't meaning anything along those lines.

"I'd love to sit with you while you spin," she says, imagining that even the books she once loved won't offer the same delight.

She pulls up the stool from behind her no longer used vanity and places it behind him, seating herself.

"Is this all right?" she asks, peering over his shoulder and resting her hands tentatively on his sides, the warmth of his body meeting her palms through the worn fabric of his shirt immediately.

"It is, very much so," he replies, his gestures momentarily faltering.

He recovers swiftly though as she makes herself comfortable behind him, slowly resting her head on his shoulder to watch him work from that vantage point. The soft creaking of the spinning wheel is utterly hypnotizing, just like the smooth gestures of his hands - oh, those wonderful hands, equally apt with weaponry and thread and… well,  _her_.

"Are you a healer, my lady?" he asks, abruptly breaking the comfortable silence between them. "I… I never asked before and it struck me how little I know about you… I probably should ask such things. I don't want you to think that I'm not interested. Because I  _am_."

"Don't worry about it," she smiles, lightly stroking his sides in an experimental, hopefully calming way. "After all, we've known each other for only a short while and we've got plenty of other things to think about… things more important than us or our wedding."

Saying that, Belle realizes that their engagement isn't even official - or at least, the news hasn't made public yet. In the chaos and ever increasing threat in the days since Sir Rumplestiltskin's arrival, she hasn't even talked much to her father about the upcoming marriage.

"There are few moments I don't think of the approach of the Ogres and how we might stop them. But you are very important to me too, my lady. In fact, it's only when we spend time together or when I think of you that I don't worry about the war."

"It pleases me to hear that, sir," she says, flattered in a way she has never been before. "To answer your question, I'm not a healer; I am not nearly capable enough to be one. I am a nurse, but I feel like I hardly qualify as such. I haven't been taught officially and there's only so much I can learn from books. But I do what I can to help the wounded and the dying."

"I think you're doing wonderfully from what I've seen and heard so far. I must admit… I didn't know that ladies do anything like that. I thought they just… I don't know. That they just  _are_ and don't necessarily do something other than looking pretty."

"You think I look pretty, good sir?" she asks, masking her curiosity and the sudden flutter in her belly with a playful tone.

"No," he says, his hands faltering once more, the wool falling from his previously so confident fingers.

Right before uninvited disappointment can hit her, her fiancé turns his head to look her in the eyes, his face suddenly very close to hers while there's something in his gaze that she has never seen there before.

"I think you're by far the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

The knight looks away abruptly, as if both their nearness and his own words have taken him aback. Belle shivers pleasantly despite not being mere inches away from his face any longer, his declaration of her beauty echoing in her mind.

If anything, she can properly study his profile from this angle, take in the sight of his sharp face. When she saw him the first time, his stern attractiveness didn't mean anything to her. But now she's starting to become happy that he'll be her husband in a way she couldn't have imagined.

"Thank you," she says, her voice sounding strangely low to her own ears. "It pleases me that you say that, good sir."

"I… I'm glad," he mutters, his hands lying idly in his lap. "Not just because I feared that was too forward of me to say, but also because… I wish to serve you, my lady, to… to please you."

"You  _do._  In fact, I think you are very handsome yourself."

"You don't… you don't have to say that," he says quietly, as if he thinks that she's only voicing her appreciation for him in an attempt to repay him for his compliments on her own appearance.

"I want to say it, because I think it's true," she says, equally softly but entirely convinced.

"I… I'm glad. I had hoped that you wouldn't be… opposed to the way I look, to my age, but I couldn't have thought that you  _like_ …"

As if the fluttering wasn't mesmerizing and lovely enough yet, something is  _clenching_ inside of her when her toughened fiancé falters once more and  _blushes_ at her words.

He goes back to his work after casting another glance at her at the corner of his eyes. Belle giggles a little, giddy in a way she couldn't imagine herself to be, and experimentally strokes his sides. It's probably just her imagination, but it does seem to her that his breath quickens in response to her touch.

"Lady Belle, I must ask…" he says after another while. "This question has been plaguing me from the very beginning. I didn't know how to ask, before, and I still don't, but I have to know."

"What is it? You can ask me anything you want, I hope you know that."

"Do you agree with the match that has been arranged for us?" he asks at length, his words barely audible by now. "Are you not opposed to the prospect of marrying me?"

"I do agree with our match, and I'm not opposed to marrying you  _at all_."

Belle tentatively wraps her arms around his waist and pulls herself more tightly against his back to prove her point. This time, the way he shudders is as undeniable as the knowledge that he isn't doing so out of discomfort.

"You  _wish_ to wed me?" he rasps, facing her again.

"I do," she whispers, staring into those beautiful eyes of his, yet warmer and more expressive than usual. "I didn't imagine my marriage to be more than a political match in which my only happiness would be the protection that my husband would be able to give my people. But now that I've gotten to know you… I  _want_ to marry you, Sir Rumplestiltskin. I want to marry  _you._ "

"You want me, even now that you're getting to know me better?" he asks, gesturing at the bed where he, still in the hold of one of his nightmares, put his dagger against her throat last night. "Now that you know that I can't guarantee to protect you? You and your people? You can't be certain that I can keep you safe from Ogres… or from  _myself_."

"I do want you. I  _trust_  you. You're a good man and I know that you'll do whatever you can to keep me and my -  _our_ \- people safe. More than that, I think you'll do anything in your power to make me happy. And I want to do the same for you."

"My sweet lady…" he whispers, looking at her as if he can't believe that this is truly happening - but he doesn't return her declaration.

"Which makes me wonder," she adds, "whether you want to be married to  _me_."

"I do," he replies urgently, "I  _do_. My lady Belle, I… I must admit that I was… reluctant about this match and only agreed to it because King David and Queen Snow White insisted. But now that I've met you, now that I've gotten to know you, your kindness and your understanding... I am looking forward to being your husband. Very much so."

"That's wonderful to hear, good sir," she says, shivering a little herself at his conviction, the sudden passion in his words. "Although I wonder… wasn't our match your idea? I know it wasn't my father's, and it definitely wasn't my own. I must admit I had never heard of you before King David suggested the match in his first letter to my father. I just thought… I didn't expect it was actually the king's idea."

"It was. I hadn't heard of you either, my lady. Not until King David asked me if I'd consider marrying you. I agreed because I trust in him and his leadership after serving him for so long."

"But for no other reason?"

"I had no other reason to agree to the match, no. At the time it was like… almost like just another assignment to serve my king."

"Only this time without attacks and ambushes, but with a woman to spend the rest of your life with."

"Indeed. At the time I suspected that the king only had tactical and political motivations when he asked of me to marry you. He knows I am loyal to him to the death and that… well, your father and you…"

"We are part of the kingdom but we are far away from the capital, relatively far from the influence of the king and the queen," Belle says, voicing what she already suspected. "He wants to strengthen our alliance by arranging a marriage between a man he trusts and the heir of a man he does not… or at least, not entirely."

"King David does trust you and your father, and so does the queen," Sir Rumplestiltskin reassures her. "They just… these are difficult times and they want to take all the measures they can to keep their allies close. But perhaps it's more than that. I like to think that the King and I know each other quite well. He might have… he might have known of your kind heart and generous nature. He might have suspected that we would get along very well."

Despite the looming war, despite her long gone belief in fairy tales, Belle marvels at these revelations, the discovery that the king himself arranged a marriage of what could become true love between the courageous but humble knight and herself. But there's no considering that just yet, not when the man in question appears to have forgotten all about the spinning wheel, all of his attention focused solely on her instead.

He leans in to her ever so slightly, going as far as to briefly glance at her lips before meeting her gaze again. She licks them subconsciously, moving towards him for the kiss she finds herself craving without warning, her arms still securely wrapped around him.

"My sweet lady Belle," he whispers, the throaty quality of his voice causing her insides to clench again.

"Rumplestiltskin," she replies, quivering deliciously when she addresses him like that, using his given name without any of the usual formalities, at feeling his closeness.

Hardly able to fully believe that the wonderfulness between them is reaching yet new heights so soon, Belle is neither surprised nor particularly disappointed when the knight abruptly withdraws and turns his head away in reaction to this most recent development between them.

Indeed, she is perfectly happy that her fiancé accepts her renewed embrace when he continues to spin, her eyes fluttering closed when she leans against his back to continue watching him work.


	13. Chapter 13

Bow still in hand, Belle looks at the walls and towers in front of her, the people surrounding her, while never losing sight of her fiancé from the corners of her eyes. After months of fearful expectation, the Ogres are finally almost upon them. But although the first large fights are expected to occur the night after tomorrow, when the creatures reach their first outpost, there's not the the crippling terror she would have expected until recently.

Briefly closing her eyes, she senses it all around her. The soldiers, the other nurses, her own father, the children and the elderly… they are nervous, of course, downright frightened, but more than that there's a feeling that this may not be the end, that there's a chance that they may actually successfully defend themselves against the Ogres.

_Hope_.

There was none of it until Sir Rumplestiltskin arrived with his tactics and tricks, his decades of experience and unrivaled swordsmanship. He's explaining the battle plan one final time, improving it on the spot if remarks or questions from bystanders give reason to, while showing everyone their positions again.

Belle listens closely, having some trouble focusing on his words rather than on his lips and eyes, his every gesture. After all, no matter how handsome her fiancé is, he'll only become her husband if they survive the battles they are preparing for now.

Eager to spend as much time with him as she can before he has to leave tomorrow to join the soldiers preparing an ambush a few miles away from the castle, Belle makes her way towards the knight as soon as he is done with his explanations and the crowd starts to disperse.

"My Lady Belle," he greets her, looking pleased to see her.

"Sir Rumplestiltskin," she replies, spontaneously curtsying for him.

He deeply bows to her in response and she smiles a little, finding unexplainable joy in the way they interact, in some ways still so very formal and  _proper_ , but often so much more than that.

"With these trying days ahead of us, I think it's a good idea to try to catch a fish or two now that we still have the chance," she says quietly, not wanting the people lingering nearby to hear.

Knowing how much her well-being means to her fiancé, Belle feels somewhat guilty for implicitly referring to it in an attempt not to have to say goodbye to him just yet - or at least, until he nods eagerly in reaction to her question.

"A very good idea, my lady," he replies equally softly, "but it's for the best if no one sees us head into the forest together."

"I agree," she sighs, reminded that almost none of the people surrounding them have any idea about their relationship. And if they did, even in these times of war and death it would be frowned upon if it were to get out just how well her fiancé and she are getting to know one another before their wedding. "How about you go to the lake through the forest and I go via the castle?"

"I'll see you there," he says, looking utterly delighted at the prospect.

It feels unnatural to take a different route than him despite knowing that they're heading towards exactly the same place, but Belle knows only too well that it's for the best. Besides, trying not to break out in a very unladylike run in the middle of the courtyard is difficult enough as it is without wondering what might happen if people were to know how the relationship between Sir Rumplestiltskin and herself is progressing.

As soon as she reaches a corridor where no one else is in sight, she pulls up her skirt and hastens her step. By the time she sneaks outside the castle, she's running after all, her feet knowing the route to her fiancé's campsite by now almost as well as the way to the own chambers.

She's moving as quickly as she can by the time that she reaches the lake. To her surprise, Sir Rumplestiltskin is already there, his back towards her as he gathers worms to put on the fishing hook. He may have taken the slightly shorter route, but she has  _run_ \- and so must he have, to have arrived earlier than she regardless.

The knight turns around as soon as she steps into the clearing next to the lake, smiling when he sees her. He looks so relaxed, so beautiful, that it takes her a long moment to realize that she has never actually seen him smile before - that  _she_ must be the reason he's doing so now.

That realization falters however when his eyes widen when he takes in the sight of her, his gaze leaving her face to go downwards. Only then it dawns on her that her chest is heaving with exertion and that she's still holding up her skirt.

Her heart beats rapidly in a way that has nothing whatsoever to do with her dash through the castle and its grounds when a blush appears on her fiancé's cheeks as he ever so briefly stares at her unintentionally exposed lower legs, a few inches of them visible above the edges of her boots.

"You like what you see, good sir?" she asks, finding that there's a strange, teasing quality in her voice.

"I do, my sweet lady, if that isn't too forward."

"It isn't," she says, looking meaningfully at him. "I like what I see, too."

The weather may be too chilly for him to go without his thick jerkin, but he looks striking regardless with his long, graying hair, strong features and lean figure. The redness on his cheeks visibly increases when she only slowly lowers her skirt, simultaneously allowing herself for the first time to notice – to  _appreciate -_ just how well he fills his rather tight breeches.

"Do you want to try it for yourself?" he asks, stepping towards her.

Only when he offers her the fishing line, with a no longer wriggling worm on the hook at its end, it dawns on her that her fiancé doesn't appear to be as eager as she is herself to start getting to know each other in a whole new way after all.

"I do," she says, lying down her bow and arrows, trying to think of fish rather than something possibly yet more delicious that the knight and she might share.

Despite the distracting images in the back of her mind and the heat lingering on her cheeks, she throws the fishing line into the water in a way that has a look of approval appearing on his face.

Holding the line carefully, Belle watches him rather than the line when he goes to make a fire right behind her. Trying to forget about the Ogres for tonight, she sighs in contentment when the flames which he brings to life keep the increasing chilliness and darkness at bay.

"You never actually got around to braiding my hair," she remarks when he idles just outside the circle of light once he has lit the fire, as if he doesn't know whether he should join her or not.

"Indeed, I didn't," he says, moving towards her. "Would you mind if I…"

"I wouldn't, not at all," she smiles affectionately, marveling at the man who makes it seem like she is doing  _him_ a favor with the none too subtle request.

He sits down at her side with his comb in his hand a moment later, warming her in a way fire is incapable of. She sighs happily when he removes the pins from her curls, letting them fall freely down her back and shoulders after only a moment of hesitation, closing her eyes in enjoyment when he begins to comb her hair once more.

His touches are as reverent as they were last time, but now it's better yet as his ever so shy fingers brush her shoulders and neck every once in a while, lingering for short moments. To her delight, he takes much longer than strictly necessary to comb and subsequently braid her hair, but far too soon his work is completed anyway - or at least, almost.

It hasn't occurred to her that the materials required to keep her hair in place throughout the night are all in her room until he stops braiding. Before reaching the very end of her tresses, he holds something in front of her.

"Will this suffice, my lady?"

Despite the falling darkness, it's clear to her that he holds up a blue ribbon for her approval. It's a simple one compared to the remnants of long gone days which she still keeps in her room, but she's never seen a lovelier one.

"It's beautiful," she replies sincerely, her heart warming with the knowledge that he must have acquired it specifically for her. "Where did you get it?"

"There is some trade among the soldiers and people from the castle. I saw this and I… I hoped you would like it."

"I do, very much so. Thank you so much, good sir."

When he ties the ribbon in her hair with ever gentle fingers, the little piece of fabric is the most precious one she has ever owned.

Right after he has secured the braid with the ribbon, the fishing line is almost tugged out of her hands by what turns out to be a relatively small fish. While the knight prepares it for her she throws the line out again, only to catch an only slightly smaller fish a short while later. She insists that he eats it and after only some objections he accepts.

That's how the two of them end up sitting next to one another in front of the fire, each enjoying a tasty roasted fish in companionable silence. Rather than wishing it could always be like this, just the two of them being comfortable together, Belle savors the moment as much as she can, not thinking of the fights which will occur the next day, and the day after that, and after that, until either the Ogres or their own people are no longer.

But just like usual, trying not to think, not to  _worry_ about things beyond the pleasantness of the here and now is easier said than done. Rather than the war which is about to get worse than it has ever been, it's currently the relationship between her fiancé and herself which prevents her from simply sitting there and cherishing his company.

She's more aware than ever before that there's something she has kept from him until now, both for personal and political reasons. It's something she strongly feels she must tell him now, when both death and marriage are within reach.

"Have you thought about having children?" she asks softly. It's probably not the best way to breach the subject, but it's the only way she can think of.

"I haven't, not really," he replies, looking at her questioningly. "Until a few weeks ago I hadn't really thought about marriage, either."

"What about heirs?" she asks, looking back at him intently.

"I suppose… I suppose we'll have them eventually. They're one of the consequences of marriage, aren't they? One of the goals even, perhaps."

"I suppose," she responds, trying to win time to formulate her next words while she processes his reaction. It's a relief that he currently isn't nearly as intent on having children - or more specifically, male heirs - as a lot of other men in his shoes probably would have been, but he might as well be when he  _has_ thought about it.

"Why do you ask?" he inquires carefully before she can speak, as if she has any say in the matter once they are married, or even now… as if she ever has, from the moment she was only a young girl herself. "Don't you want to have children?"

"I don't really know either," she replies, momentarily taken off guard by the notion that her personal preference is an important role in the matter. "I always thought that it was something that would happen quite soon after I'd marry whoever was chosen for me."

"The way I understand it, it's a matter of nature," he says, not quite looking at her any longer. "As soon as we… consummate our marriage, there's a chance you become with child. But we don't  _have_ to. If you want to wait, if you aren't comfortable, if you don't want to at all…"

"That's not what I'm saying," she replies quickly, tears welling in her eyes without warning at his kindness, at his implied offer to renounce his rights as a husband to save her perceived discomfort, to make certain they won't have children he seems to think she perhaps doesn't want.

"My Lady Belle?!"

He sounds horrified, shifting closer towards her. Checking his fingers, presumably to make certain they aren't covered with remains of fish, he only wraps a careful arm around her when he has ensured himself that his hands are clean.

"You are the very first who makes it seem like my opinion regarding children matters," she sniffles, gratefully moving into his embrace. She doesn't bury her face in the comfort and safety of his neck however, needing him to hear her next words clearly. "What I want to tell you is that I don't know whether I  _can_ have children. Since the war started I haven't bled anymore. It should get back to normal when I can eat properly again and take more rest, but I don't know when that might happen... and if it actually will happen."

She can't see his expression from her current position, but from the way he slightly tightens his hold on her and pulls her a little more firmly against her she knows that there is nothing to worry about, that her fiancé won't reject her because of this like so many others probably would.

"My dear lady," he breathes, resting her head against his. "I won't pretend to fully understand what you're saying. But I hope that you know that whether you can have children or not changes nothing about the way I feel about you. I only wish you to be healthy, to be  _happy_ , and I want to do anything I can to contribute to that… preferably as your husband, if you will have me."

" _Thank you_ ," she says shakily, not knowing how else to express her gratitude and relief. "Really, good sir, this means so much to me. Also, I do want you as my husband, now more than ever."

"I'm glad," he replies, his hands stroking lightly up and down her back. "Because I want to be married to you as well. But not because of heirs, or lands or titles, but because of  _you_. And  _if_ we have offspring... I would cherish them, Lady Belle. Not because they are our heirs, but because they are our  _children_. And if we don't… spending my life with you will be a blessing in its own right."

"I feel the same way," she sighs, thoroughly put at ease by his words.

At the same time, the pending horror and doom of the expected battles of the next days seems yet crueler now that this hurdle in their relationship is taken as well. Belle clings to her fiancé, once again wishing that there weren't hundreds of Ogres between them and their happily ever after.

No matter how pleasant it is to sit with her loving and currently healthy fiancé like this by the peaceful lakeside, her body warm and her belly full, she knows that they can't remain like this for hours to come when she has to suppress a yawn of exhaustion, her eyelids already drooping… or at least, they can't keep sitting like this, not right here.

"Let me stay with you tonight?" she asks softly, glancing at his small tent right behind them.

"You would sleep in my encampment, with me at your side?" he asks, although she's quite certain that he understood her perfectly.

"I do," she confirms, knowing that he won't take liberties with her - or at least, not if she doesn't ask for them. But all she wishes for tonight is to share a part of his life with him that has been unknown to her so far, to give him company for one night in the tiny space where he has spent so many years all by himself.

For a few heartbeats it looks like he might deny her request, like he didn't want to share her bed with her the night after he did so to soothe her pains and comfort her. But then he nods, his expression grateful, both of them knowing very well that this might as well be the last time that they can spend time together… that this could be the last night that he is alive.

No words are spoken when he moves over to his tent and opens it for her, the air inside as chilly as outside. What appear to be furs of sorts are the only thing separating the inhabitants from the cold and hard ground below, but there's nowhere Belle would rather sleep.

She kicks off her muddy boots and shrugs out of her cloak when she moves inside the tent, having to bend down in order to fit into it. He follows her example, the hue of the fire outside barely reaching them any longer when he closes the tent from the inside.

Despite the lack of light and lack of space, it's not difficult at all for the two of them to lie down together and get comfortable, pulling both their cloaks over their huddled forms. She happily moves back against the knight, only ceasing her movements when her back is pressed tightly against his chest and he moves a tentative arm around her, coming to rest just below the swell of her breast.

She didn't realize just how cold she was now that they are away from the fire until he wraps himself around her, his body solid and warm, just like his deep, regular breath against the side of her neck. It's a safe haven she couldn't have imagined… a safe haven she wants to imagine having for many years to come.

"Sleep well, Sir Rumplestiltskin," she says sleepily.

"Sleep well, Lady Belle," he whispers, her eyes already falling shut.


	14. Chapter 14

The lakeside looks exactly like how she remembers it from the years before she met Sir Rumplestiltskin, how it might look for many lifetimes to come. It's cruel, almost, that no tangible evidence or even reminder of his presence remains now that his tent and few belongings are packed.

It's especially particular considering that this part of the castle grounds is the only one that hasn't been changed considerably in the past few days, and are still being adapted, in preparation for the Ogres which are expected to show up at their gates sooner or later, with either a few survivors of them or whole hordes.

With the walls being fortified, towers being adapted to accommodate considerably more archers and the grounds in front of the castle being covered with a variety of traps - most of them by the knight's design - it's almost painful not to have a physical reminder of him at the place where he had the most impact to her personally.

The time in which she helped him pack earlier this afternoon is already nothing but a memory, just like when she watched him shave before the break of dawn, before she returned to her own chambers to pretend she had spent the night there.

Already, it's almost as if he has never been there at all. All she can do now is hope that he'll return from the battles against the Ogres; that he'll come back to the castle as her husband, rather than here in the forest at the lakeside as her fiancé - or that he won't return at all.

"I have to leave soon," Sir Rumplestiltskin announces.

"I know," she mutters, looking from where his campsite used to be back to him.

"I can't promise that I"ll come back," he says quietly, probably sensing the line of her thoughts.

"I know," she says again, sighing deeply.

It's ironic, really, how defeating the Ogres before they destroy their lands was the only thing that mattered to her until so recently, whereas what she hopes for the most now is the safe return of the man at her side.

Her heart aches when she thinks of their first layer of defence a few miles from the castle - a first layer of defence they didn't have until a few days ago. Sir Rumplestiltskin will be there along with hundreds of other soldiers, quite some of them sent by the Queen and King, leading them to ambush the mindlessly violent creatures in the narrow pass towards the castle.

"The thought of you will give me strength, my lady."

"The thought of you will give me hope, sir."

"That too."

"Just… please be safe."

"You too, my lady. I would be… devastated if something were to happen to you."

"Likewise," she replies, not allowing herself think that he'll be at considerable more risk than she will be for the next few days… and that there might as well come a time in the future that death is inevitable for both of them… for everyone.

"If it is any consolation… I never imagined what I might do once the war is over and the realm is finally safe. Now I do."

She quivers with something opposite of fear and anxiety when he looks at her as if he's already thinking of them as husband and wife.

"The same goes for me as well. I never truly imagined my life after the war, when there might be peace. I never expected myself to be happy with my husband."

He takes a step towards her, looking at her as if she's the most bewildering and rare creature he has ever seen.

"You honor me, my Lady Belle," he responds, taking her hand in his own.

"So do you."

For a moment, all she can do is stare at him, at this beautiful, still thoroughly intriguing stranger who slays Ogres one day and teaches her archery and fishing, washes and braids her hair the next… the man who will be her husband, the father or any children they might conceive… the man whose ring on her finger will mean freedom rather than submission.

More than any of that, Sir Rumplestiltskin is the man who she's starting to fall in love with, the man she doesn't want to live without.

Without giving it a thought, Belle throws herself in his arms, wanting to hold on to him now that she still can. The knight catches her easily despite the abrupt, rather forceful movement of her body. He pulls her tightly against his chest, clutching her against him with strong but gentle arms.

Her arms go around his torso, holding him equally tightly as she presses her face against the fabric of his jerkin, deeply breathing in the by now familiar scent of him; she would have crawled into him if she could.

She tries to think of words that might be able to make clear to him just how much she'll miss him when he's gone, how much she needs him to come back to her alive. But nothing she can think of can express her longing for that, can describe the emptiness she would experience in a life without him.

Belle realizes that she's crying only when he rocks her lightly in his arms. Rather than muttering well-intended but meaningless reassurances, he simply holds on to her more tightly, seemingly perfectly understanding the way she feels, if only because he seems to experience exactly the same.

She wishes that she could remain in his safe embrace forever, his head resting on hers as he strokes his back, but eventually she moves slightly backwards, tears streaming down her face. Liquid is dripping from his eyes as well and she reaches for him, wiping his tears away.

Her eyes flutter closed when he does the same for her, wondering once more at his hands, depending on the situation either lethal or so very, very gentle. She wants to never stop feeling them, wants to feel them on  _all_ of her, just like she wants to wake up the way she did that morning for the rest of her life, in his warm and loving embrace, their limbs entwined.

"Can we say our goodbyes here?"

She doesn't immediately understand why he would want to be separated from her slightly sooner than strictly speaking necessary, but his motivations become clear to her when she looks into his still misty eyes.

Rather than being able to take their time now that he doesn't have to leave straight away just yet, it's the privacy of their current surroundings which he wants to make use of, to freely spend their last moments together without being watched by prying eyes of the people, perhaps even her father.

"Of course," she says, tears welling in her own eyes again as well.

Wanting to hold him one last time, she steps towards him, gratefully wrapping her arms around him once more when he pulls her protectively against him without further ado. She would love to bury her face his chest again, but this time she rests her head against his shoulder, her face close to his.

"Goodbye, Sir Rumplestiltskin," she whispers in his ear.

"Goodbye, my Lady Belle."

"If…  _when_ you return, will you use my given name?"

"I shall, my lady, and I'd like you to use mine as well."

"I'd like that very much,  _Sir_  Rumplestiltskin."

Despite everything, she smiles a little, focusing for a moment on the prospect of seeing him again and getting to know him yet better. She can't wait to explore the new feelings he's evoking within her and to try to find out whether he experiences similar desire for her. But for now all there is left for them is to make their farewells and for him to join the group of soldiers with whom he'll leave before anyone comes looking for him and finds the two of them like this.

"I'll miss you," she whispers, standing on her toes to kiss his damp cheek. Her movements are slow, her lips only brushing his skin when he nods in response to her unspoken question. He shivers when she touches him like this for the very first time, and so does she when the warmth of his skin and the scent of him fill her senses. "I'll think of you all the time."

"So will I. You will never be out of my thoughts, Lady Belle, and I'll live for the moment to be reunited with you."

She nods shakily, closing her eyes tightly when he leans in to tentatively kiss her cheek as well. He lingers briefly, making her wish yet more that there was no war, no Ogres, that they could simply stay like this in their own bubble to get to know each other as future husband and wife.

Any intention of letting him go when he slightly withdraws at last are gone when she sees the tears dripping down his face. Belle cradles his cheeks in her hands, brushing the salty liquid away once more and giving him a watery smile when he does the same for her.

"I should go," he says, the words hardly more than a few choked sounds while he rests her forehead against his.

"Yes, you should," she says, her voice similarly impacted.

Still, both of them stay exactly how they are for another short while. Right before Belle is about to give in to the urge to throw herself in his embrace again, the knight steps away from her.

Neither of them say another word, but she knows that he is thinking exactly the same things as she is when she looks into his deep brown eyes one last time. That mutual feeling of a combination of sorrow and hope only increases as he slides his hands from her face down her lowering arms to entwine his fingers with hers.

Sir Rumplestiltskin takes another step away from her, but he continues to hold on to her hands until the very last moment, when the increasing distance between their bodies no longer allows him to remain touching her.


	15. Chapter 15

Belle is practically bouncing with almost unbearable impatience and restlessness when a small number of men ride, walk and stumble into the courtyard of the castle. There are rumors of a great victory, word rapidly spreading of the dozens of Ogres which are apparently slaughtered, but she won't believe it - won't  _care_ \- until such news has been confirmed by her fiancé.

More than that, the rumored victory will only truly mean something to her when he comes back in good health. But he isn't among the men returning to the castle, or so it seems for an awfully long time. But right when the last few men of the group appear, Sir Rumplestiltskin turns out to be at the very back of the group, walking alongside the white horse he rode when he left three days ago, which now carries two injured men.

Almost light-headed with relief when she rushes towards him as quickly as her skirt and the gathered crowd allows her, Belle is horrified regardless to see that the knight is covered in blood. But she finds comfort in the way he walks without visible trouble, talking to the men who step to him to take the horse and tend to the wounded on its back.

As soon as the two other men are no longer under his care, Sir Rumpelstiltskin steps away from the group of soldiers, his gaze going over the people in the courtyard. Something inside of her  _shudders_ when their eyes lock and he heads towards her with equal haste.

It seems to take forever until they actually reach each other, but then they're right opposite one another. Before she can wonder how they might greet each other with all these people surrounding them, he has swept her in his arms, pulling her off the ground in his enthusiasm.

" _Belle_ ," he breathes when he pulls her against him, only increasing her relief and the sheer giddiness overcoming her with the way he clings to her and says her name, like she is yet more than his fiancée - like she is his  _everything._

"Rumplestiltskin," she says when she wraps her arms around his neck and he twirls her around. "I'm  _so glad_ you're back. But the blood on your clothes, are you…"

"It isn't mine; all I got is a few scratches," he says, still holding on to her. "We  _got_ them, Belle. The plan worked. There weren't as many Ogres in the first group as we'd thought, but we killed them all. Although a few men are injured, all of us survived."

"That's incredible", she replies, holding to him just as tightly while he continues to carry her full weight. "I know it isn't over yet, but…"

"I know. We haven't nearly defeated them yet, but we couldn't have started better."

"How long can you stay?" she asks, trying to process the fact that they have been more successful against the Ogres than they could have dreamed of before  _and_ that her future husband is in her arms once more, healthy and  _hers_.

"I have to get back when there are reports of the main group of Ogres heading our way, but our scouts have explored the area a few hours ago. It was all clear at that time."

She smiles broadly at him, both of them knowing that this allows him to stay at the castle for at least a few days. He'll have his duties to attend to, just like she has hers, but at least they'll be able to steal a few moments for themselves like they've been doing before he left. Most importantly, he'll be safe for at least a short while.

When he lets go of her at last, Belle is still oblivious to the people surrounding them, only having eyes for the man she'd marry today rather than tomorrow. She tenses immediately when he takes in the sight of her, his eyes widening in what appears to be shock when he looks at her clothes.

"My apologies, Belle. I got blood on your clothes."

"It's all right," she says, glancing down her nurse's dress. "There was already blood there - none of it mine."

He nods solemnly, his eyes still on her. Taking her chance to take a look at his clothes rather than at the man wearing them, she gets slightly nauseous when she sees that his jerkin and skin alike are soaked with blood. Rather than the dark red evidence of violence as such, it's the awareness what he might have gone through to get in this state that has her wishing to erase it from him.

Naturally, soothing his mind won't be nearly as easy as cleaning his clothing and body, but she imagines that he'll feel better when all the gore is gone - that both of them will. In a way, the wounded men in the infirmary brought the violence right with them into the castle, their screams and struggles making it seem as if they were still right at a battlefield - and, in a way, her along with them.

"We should get cleaned up."

They smile a little when they simultaneously say exactly the same words, both of them also glancing in the direction of the lake at the same time.

Sir Rumplestiltskin offers her his arm and she eagerly takes it, not caring what people might see and think when the two of them head into the forest behind the castle together. She doesn't quite know what to say when they walk, but she's got the feeling that he's as happy as she is herself now that they are together once more for the time being.

He lets go of her arm and shrugs out of his blood-covered jerkin as soon as they reach the lake, throwing the garment into the water at his feet with a look of disgust. The knight starts pulling at his no longer white shirt as well, but then falters, looking back at her.

Heat rises to Belle's cheeks, realizing only now that neither of them have quite thought this through. But to her delight, her fiancé looks more flustered than uncomfortable or embarrassed.

"I'll… I'll wash your clothes while you bathe?" she suggests questioningly, imagining that it's the only way to go beyond the impasse which suddenly has presented himself, somewhere between desire and the supposedly inappropriate unknown.

"You don't have to wash my clothes for me," he replies, gesturing at the floating, heavily stained fabric.

"I  _want_ to," she says, trying to find a way to make clear to him that she isn't considering this the task of a servant - quite the opposite. "You can wash my clothes later, if you like."

"I'd like that," he says softly, his intent gaze telling her that there's no mistaking that he likes both the prospect of handling her clothing in such a manner and of her being out of them at that time. "I'll… I'll get you some soap."

He rummages through his sparse belongings, retrieving what must be the same bar of soap he used when he washed her hair a while ago - and his own body on the night that she first saw him.

"Thank you," she says when she takes it from him, trying not to be too much aware right now that the fiancé who has been selected for her but whom she's growing to desire like he is her own choice for her husband is going to undress practically right in front of her. "I won't look when you go in."

"I… I appreciate that," he says, his cheeks coloring.

She nods in understanding, relieved but unsurprised that he too doesn't quite know how to go about this, to enjoy each other's company in new ways without rushing forwards too quickly into thoroughly unfamiliar, highly personal territory.

"Let me know when you're in the water and I can open my eyes again?"

"I will," he says rather hoarsely, both of them knowing that she'll spend as much time watching him submerged in the lake from a safe distance as paying attention to his clothes she just offered to wash.

"Don't you need soap?" she asks, despite the distracting nature of the situation realizing that they can't use the single bar at the same time.

"I'll try to get out the worst with just water. Why don't you throw the bar towards me when you're done?"

She nods in agreement, although she can't help but immediately come up with a much more… accurate way to return the soap to him later.

For now, she closes her eyes and covers her face with her hands just in case, turning her back towards him for emphasis, not wanting to make him uncomfortable once more by accidentally peeking at him while he is in a state of complete undress.

That doesn't mean however that her imagination isn't running wild when she hears clothes being shed and splattering water. In her mind's eye, she can see exactly what he's doing, taking off his shirt and breeches - and whatever else he may be wearing underneath - and wading into the lake, his strong muscles working visibly beneath his skin while the water laps at the body she can't wait to get to know better herself.

"You can open your eyes," he announces, interrupting her line of delightfully scandalous thoughts.

Wanting to pretend at least for a moment that she isn't going to ogle as much of him as Rumplestiltskin is willing to show her, she first focuses on the items of clothing he has left on the shore. Warmth of a lovely kind spreads throughout her when she carefully picks up the smallest and softest item among them - even that one wasn't spared the fate of his outer clothes.

Still barely managing to keep her eyes off the knight, Belle gathers his stained clothing and wets it in the lake. Encouraged by the prospect that he is going to wash her clothes next, it doesn't matter that her skirt gets soaked when she steps into the water as well and works up a lather which will hopefully get the blood out of the worn fabric.

Only when her hands are rubbing the layers together on their own accord, she allows herself to look up. It's probably a good thing that she waited so long, for there is no way that she can focus on the work when her fiancé is mere dozens of feet away from her. He's into the lake up to his waist, but there's only so much the clear water can hide in the light of day.

Subconsciously licking her lips, she admires the sight of him, the obvious strength and wiriness of his lean frame. It's not the first time she has seen him like this, but it might as well be now that he is hers and he knows that she's watching him. If anything, the way he tilts his head back and splashes water down his body tells her that he is doing so only for her viewing pleasure, his body angled half towards her.

"Are you going to use that soap?" he asks, glancing meaningfully at her hands - which turn out to have gone entirely still when she watched him. "I t seems that I can't get all the blood off with only water after all."

"I don't think I'm going to use the soap right now," she replies, recalling what she thought of the moment she realized that the bar of soap has to be transported somehow from her to him. "Do you mind if I come bring it to you?"

"I don't mind at all if it pleases you."

Sir Rumplestiltskin turns his back towards her, allowing her to wade into the water without being looked at. She appreciates the gesture, very much so, especially because she has somewhat different plans than he probably expects.

Leaving the laundry where it is, she discards her soaked dress and throws it onto the growing pile of cotton into the water. She hesitates only briefly before pushing her drawers down her legs and taking off her shift as well.

Belle shivers pleasantly at the indecency of it… or rather, the intimacy that both of them are craving increasingly when she steps into the lake, its water wonderfully cool against her flushed skin. She has just enough presence of mind to grab the bar of soap before making her way towards him, one of her arms instinctively covering her chest.

Her heartbeat and breathing are deliciously quick when she approaches him, getting a better and better view of him as he stands still in front of her, the lake's surface only barely reaching his waist.

"Here you go," she says, extending her bare arm around him to offer him the soap as soon as she is close enough.

"Thank you," he says, taking it from her.

From this near, she can clearly see the dried blood still clinging to his skin and even his hair, but she ignores it to the best of her abilities, not wanting to see the remainder of the violence he went through on him. When he begins to rub the soap over his left arm, she remains right where she is for as long as he doesn't give any indication that he is uncomfortable with it, admiring him now that she has the chance.

"I can't help but feel that you have a particular fondness for watching me bathe," he says, sounding rather pleased.

"That I do," she replies, although this time is considerably different - and infinitely better - than the previous time, when she accidentally stumbled upon him when he was washing himself in the lake in preparation of his formal introduction to her. "But there's something I think I'll enjoy yet more than that."

"What would that be?" he asks rather breathlessly.

"Let me wash your hair?"

She remembers very well how wonderful it felt when he washed hers and she hopes to be able to make him feel the same way.

"I would like that very much, if you don't object."

"I'd like it very much as well, although you should probably lean down so I can reach your…"

Before she has finished speaking, Sir Rumplestiltskin is already on his knees in front of her, his back still towards her while he lowers his head to give her as easy access to his hair as possible. Smiling in delight, Belle grabs the bar of soap between two hands and starts her task.


	16. Chapter 16

Her soapy hands buried in her fiancé's hair, Belle sighs happily when he tilts his head back against her bare stomach while she massages his scalp. As much as washing the Ogres' blood of him, she hopes to help the knight relax after the battle. Given the way he repeatedly sighs with obvious contentment and leans calmly back against her, she very much succeeded.

"This is wonderful, Belle. Thank you so much."

"You're very welcome," she says, thrilled that he's enjoying this so much - and hoping that he will wash her hair as well later.

For now however she is more than happy to run her hands through his hair and press her fingers gently against his head, making certain to get each and every bit of gore out of his delightfully soft tresses. Still, she can go on for only so long pretending to be still busy washing his hair rather than taking blatant advantage of this opportunity to touch him like this.

"After this, I could also wash… well, I could wash  _you_. I'd… I'd really like to do that, Rumplestiltskin."

"To be perfectly honest, I was hoping you would offer that," he says rather sheepishly, grunting quietly when her nails brush the nape of his neck. "I'd really like you to do that as well. And if you don't mind… no, if you  _like_ , I'd also like to wash your hair again… and to wash you. Or at least, parts of you."

"I'd like it  _very_ much if you would do that."

If it weren't for the slightly hesitant tone of his voice, she would have added that he could wash  _all_ of her for as far as she's concerned. As it is, she cherishes the awareness that this sort of exploration between them is only just beginning, letting her hands linger in his hair for a while longer.

Sir Rumpelstiltskin's face is tilted towards her; if he were to open his eyes, her uncovered breasts would be the first thing in his line of sight. Part of her hopes that he will look at her like that, to discover what might happen if he finds out that she's just as undressed as he is… that they are all alone and can enjoy each other as much as they want now that they have the chance.

But his eyes remains closed, quite tightly by the look of it, as if this is some sort of dream to him that he's afraid to wake up from. Maybe moving forward rather than lingering on the very present might help him to fully enjoy this for the reality that it is.

"Why don't we rinse this and get started on the rest of you?"

He plunges his head forwards into the water without ado, singlehandedly getting all the soap out of hair, as if he can't wait to get to the part that she just referred to.

"Well then," she smiles, thoroughly pleased that he's as enthusiastic about this as she is herself. "Why don't you stand up again?

Soap is the last thing on her mind when he rises in front of her, water droplets streaming down his back and arms. Taking a close look at him like this, the scars and marks on the back of his body catch her attention, reminding him of the life he has had… the life he still has. But at least this time he came back to her without any additional damage - or at least, not of the physical variety.

Before she knows it, Belle is running her hands along his back and upper arms, his skin there already almost entirely free of blood. Only when her fiancé groans quietly in appreciation, she becomes aware of what she's doing… and that once again he finds equal enjoyment in the almost subconscious touch.

She finds particular delight in the way his muscles flex under her hand, the way he leans towards her. Knowing that soap will make his skin yet smoother and will enable her to get rid of the last traces of the battle, she grabs the bar she left on a nearby floating branch.

She hastily works up a lather, eagerly but slowly spreading the suds over his skin as soon as she can. She can't resist digging her fingers lightly into his skin, intending to get as much tension out of him as she can, smiling a little when his noises of approval become louder in response.

Long after all the blood is gone, she is running her hands over him again and again, never getting slightly used to the warmth and underlying strength of him, the contrast in texture between his unblemished skin and his scars. She hopes there'll be a day that she knows the story behind each and every mark, but for now she doesn't want to remind him of the circumstances that resulted in them.

"Can we do this more often?" he asks, sounding unmistakably hopeful. "When we aren't covered in blood?"

"Definitely," she says, already imaging the two of them in a large - but not  _too_ large - tub with wonderfully warm water, being more at ease with one another, reaching out to touch each other whenever they like without blushes, stammered words and trembling limbs turning such contract into considerable challenges.

She takes his question as an invitation to move her hands to his waist, tentatively starting to move her arms around him to reach his front as well.

"Can I…"

"Definitely," he replies, yet more firmly than she just did herself.

Getting her hands covered in soap again, Belle shivers in excitement when she makes her way to his stomach, his muscles clenching right beneath her palms. The knight clearly liked her earlier touches, but  _this_ has him groaning at each caress, each slightest shift of pressure on his skin.

She takes her time getting to know him like this, but she's quite certain that he's as agreeable to the slow progress of her fingers as she is herself. Each tentative touch, each new inch curiously stroked evokes another dreamy sigh or sharp intake of breath from the knight, especially when she indulges in the discovery of his belly button.

Wanting to feel as much of him as he is willing to let her, her fingertips wander further upwards along his slick chest. He  _gasps_ when she brushes a part of his body that's at the same height as her breasts on hers, having no idea that it would turn out to be so sensitive.

" _Yes_ ," he hisses, not adding anything else but his tone making very clear to her that she has found something of great interest.

Although he provides no suggestion for further actions, she experimentally seeks out what she presumes to be an identical part of him, smiling rather smugly when her determined fingers find indeed a second little hard bud.

Belle savors each and every one of the noises he makes, especially when they become increasingly loud and urgent, the tremors she appears to cause spreading throughout his entire body. She caresses him with the pads of her fingers and subsequently scratches him ever so lightly with her nails when that turns out to draw a yet more vocal reaction from him.

Wanting to reach as much of him as possible, she steps closer towards him, only realizing just how near she is to him when her chest lightly brushes his back. It's like she's been struck by lightning only to make her feel yet better and more alive than before, a choked moan escaping her.

"Belle," he asks with a huskiness that only adds to the fire building within her, "what are you wearing?!"

"Exactly as much as you," she whispers, purposefully pushing herself more firmly against him.

" _Gods_ , Belle…"

She too takes a ragged breath at the increased contact, marveling how she appears to be seducing her fiancé without initially quite meaning to. When she isn't entirely consumed by her curiosity and desire for him and what they might do together, she is going to ponder thoroughly whether she has ever missed something in the years before meeting him that could have hinted that there can be anything like  _this_ between a couple engaged to be married.

His hips are bucking and, eager to examine these new developments from a closer distance, Belle slides her left hand down his chest. This time slightly prepared for the way his muscles react to her touch, she becomes aware of the trail of soft hair on his belly, leading down to… well, she has already seen it, but that accidental peek in the dim moonlight from the shore of the lake hardly compares to this exploration.

Intrigued, she slowly moves her hand lower, stroking his skin lightly while she follows the short, pleasant feeling hairs beneath her fingertips until she reaches just below the surface of the water.

Sir Rumplestiltskin makes another needy noise, this one almost desperate. She doesn't quite know what he's craving, but she is very happy to provide it for him - only to have him grasp her wrist gently but insistingly.

"Too much," he brings out, pulling her hand away from his lower belly. "Too much for now."

She doesn't exactly know what he means and decides not to ask, given the sudden tension in his body and the strained tone of his voice. To her relief, he seems to relax as soon as he has removed her hand from his person.

"Your touch feels incredible, Belle," he elaborates, almost sounding normal again. "I would have loved for you to continue what you were doing… and I hope you shall, once the moment is more… right. But for now… I'd prefer to try not to loose control, all right?"

"All right," she nods, growing to understand that whatever she exactly did to him is something that should be reserved for their wedding night. "But what about washing your fiancée's hair again?"

"I think we should be able to manage that," he replies, the tone of his voice alone making her wish yet more they were married already. "Why don't both of us turn around to do that?"

"I have," she announces as soon as she isn't facing him any longer, slightly disappointed but wholly understanding why he doesn't want both of them to be able to look at the front of each other's bodies right now.

"So have I."

"I would love for you to wash my hair again, but… You can just touch me, if you like. Just a little. As much as we're comfortable with now."

"The Ogres haven't destroyed me yet, but you just might," he chuckles disbelievingly, sounding like he couldn't be happier about her offer. "I'm thrilled you welcome my touch, Belle. But for now… let me first get used to touching you in a more... functional way?"

"Of course. Although I consider it highly functional when you make me feel like this."

"Make you feel like what?"

"Like I wish we were already married," she says meaningfully.

"I feel the same way. But regardless… I hardly know what I'm doing, what you are doing to  _me_ , and I don't want to rush into the more… intimate aspects of our relationships. I can't stand the possibility of ruining something between us by being too hasty."

"I very much appreciate that sentiment. I feel the same way, really, but being with you… well, it makes me forget about all that. It makes me want to throw all caution in the wind.  _You_ do, Rumplestiltskin."

"You make me feel exactly like that," he says, the whisper of his hot breath against her damp skin informing her that he has moved closer towards her.

"I suppose that it's just that I never expected anything like this," she says, trying to formulate the sense of wonder and never ending curiosity to explore him and their relationship now that it proves to be so much more enjoyable than she ever could have thought.

"Neither did I," he breathes, lightly brushing his nose against her neck.

Her eyes flutter closed, that light touch alone leaving her shivering delightfully. But when she takes a small step backwards to seek his nearness and brush her body against his once more, the knight moves backwards over a similar distance. It reminds her that there's something about their closeness which makes them want each other in a way they can't have each other yet.

Still, she can't bear the prospect of making an end to their togetherness already, of no longer being with him like this, forbidden and enchanting and utterly addicting.

"Wash my hair?" she reminds him quietly.

"I'd love to," he says, moving slightly closer towards her after all.

Managing not to give in the urge to fully step back and meld her body against his, Belle smiles happily and her eyes flutter shut again when he buries his hands in her already partially soaked tresses.


	17. Chapter 17

Belle doesn't bother to hold back her doubtlessly rather scandalous moan of enjoyment when the knight runs his hands through her hair over and over again, caressing it and curling it around his fingers long after he has rinsed off the last soap.

"This feels so lovely," she says, determined to let him know how much she is enjoying this while she further tilts her head towards him.

"It does," Sir Rumplestiltskin replies, slowly but surely gliding his fingers towards her neck.

She sighs happily when he gives up all pretense of only touching her to get her hair clean when he brushes the pads of his fingers up and down her neck over and over again. He's barely touching her at all, but the featherlight contact leaves her breathing heavily anyway, the effect he always has on her only heightened now that the two of them are in the lake together, as nude as the day they were born… and as naked as she hopes to be with him very frequently in the near future.

Her arms are still relaxed at her side, the urge to cover herself as absent as it has been the whole time since she invited him to touch her as well. If anything, she can only wish that he would step closer to her, to brush his front against her back and peek over her shoulder down her body.

He makes no indication of planning to do so, but Belle is delighted regardless when his ever so careful hands gradually make their way to her arms, stroking them lightly. She hums in approval, thrilled that he starts touching her the way she just did him and that it feels as wonderful for her as it seemed to do for him.

She almost squeaks in protest when he suddenly lets go of her, but she can hold the rather indignant sound to herself when she sees from the corner of her eyes that he only picks up the bar of soap again, implying that he's going to wash her body on his own accord.

Indeed, a short while later he puts his soapy hands on her shoulders, cleaning her with a tenderness that would have brought tears to her eyes if only the innocent touch wouldn't fuel the fire building within her.

As it is, Belle closes her eyes tightly, once more not bothering to hold back the sounds of enjoyment the knight causes while he moves his slippery hands over her with ever maintained carefulness and gentleness.

Just when she thinks that he's going to linger on her shoulders for the entire duration of washing her, Sir Rumplestiltskin moves his hands after all, starting to slide them over her back. Despite her delight because of this progress, she can't help that he'll soon dedicates himself to more sensitive parts of her.

Her arms are next and despite the strange but pleasant tension increasing within her, she giggles and squirms a little when he washes the underside of her arms, the skin there turning out to be more ticklish than she thought it was. He withdraws his hands immediately, only to chuckle lightly and resume his task when he realizes that her reaction wasn't due to discomfort.

Infuriatingly, he maintains the distance between their bodies, but that doesn't matter all that much for the time being when he reaches for her side. He brushes the pads of his fingers against them so lightly that it almost feels like he doesn't touch her at all, but by now she is so attuned to their nearness that this too leaves her shivering.

"Is this all right, Belle?" he asks when he increases the pressure ever so lightly.

"It very much is, Rumplestiltskin," she says, already participating his next question. "I will tell you if something isn't right, or if it's too much."

The knight falters for a moment, as if he still can't entirely believe that she's more than happy to grant him such freedoms, but then his fingers inch up and down her side, to her delight doing as much actual washing as touching her for the sake of it.

After a while, he is running his hands from her waist all the way to her thighs, under the water's surface. Although Belle is somewhat disappointed but not surprised at all that he doesn't venture beyond the sides of her body, she is thoroughly pleased with this progress… especially when his hands eventually do come around her midriff.

"Yours is different from mine," he whispers throatily against her neck.

It takes her clouded mind a while, but then she realizes that he's talking about her bellybutton, which he is currently exploring with fingers from both his hands. When she touched him earlier, it didn't quite occur to her with so many other temptations right beneath her fingertips that hers is deeper than his.

"Why don't you find out what else is different?"

Belle can barely believe that she actually says the words coming out of her mouth, or her unintended sultry tone for that matter. Still, she doesn't care in the slightest, especially not when Rumplestiltskin gasps and moves his hand upwards.

She is gasping too when it dawns on her where he is heading, not having expected him to be so bold. But as he buries his head against her neck - still without pressing his body against hers or peering over her shoulder - there is no mistaken the goal he has in mind.

His movements are yet slower than before, wordlessly reminding her of her own offer to tell him to stop whenever she isn't comfortable. She supposes that they'll yet have to work on finding a way to actively encourage each other to indulge in new, exciting touches.

As it is, she mentally urges him to go quicker while she shivers in pleasant anticipation, her body by now supported almost as much by her left hand on her hip as her own two shaking legs. His fingers on her hip caress her ever so lightly, almost - probably - idly, his focus on his other hand as great as hers. It feels wonderful regardless, further adding to the magic they appear to be able to make together.

" _Yes_ ," she whispers both in subconscious approval and encouragement when he slides his hand making its way across her chest ever higher.

His progress is so slow that she isn't entirely certain whether he'd actually get to touching her the way he intended, but eventually Rumplestiltskin moves his fingers upwards one more inch. Her breath hitches in her throat, and so does his, when he brushes against the swell of her breast ever so lightly.

" _Belle_ ," he groans when he keeps his hand still, letting both of them get accustomed to this new contact.

There are a variety of things she wants to say in return, but her mind has reached a point where it can't function properly any longer, where there are no thoughts beyond the primal ones about what he is doing and how he is making her feel… and what more he might be able to do.

When the knight eventually does continue their exploration, he hardly does more than move the tip of his index finger along the juncture of her midriff and the curve of her left breast, taking great care not to touch more of her.

The part of her that wants  _more_ is ignored, if not easily so, with the knowledge that they'll be able to get to such a point soon enough if fate allows it, that this is wonderful enough as it is for now. Indeed, this is thrilling and utterly exhilarating in its own right, inward speculation about what it might be like if he were to actually cup her breasts in his hands only adding to her current excitement.

Given the way he pants against her neck, Rumplestiltskin feels the same way. Touching her appears to have the same reaction on him as being touched by her does and she can't wait to find out more about that… but not just yet.

"So soft," he marvels while he brushes a single knuckle against the underside of her breast, the warm air of his words whispering against her flushed skin.

She would love to ponder on that declaration, to wonder just how different their bodies are and how they feel like to the other. But she'll do so  _later_ , when they aren't actually touching. Especially because, against her expectations, the knight chooses that particular moment to start moving the hand that was previously relatively still on her hip.

His right hand resting right below the swell of her breast, Belle lets out a shuddering sigh when the knight gradually slides his left along her belly beneath the surface of the water, proceeding until his fingers encounter the first of the curls at the apex of her thighs.

"Is this all right?!" he asks despite their earlier agreement, his tone half concern and half arousal.

"It is very much all right," she replies, detecting that strange sultry quality in her voice once more.

Rumpelstiltskin isn't quite touching her like she ultimately wants him to, but this is a very good start, and not just because it's giving her ideas and reference points for their wedding night – and any night after that. More than anything, it feels  _good_ when both of his hands stroke her so tentatively in that relatively innocent manner of his.

"This feels incredible," she says, wanting to make as clear to him as she can how much she enjoys his touch while she leans her head back, resting it against his shoulder.

"For me too," he replies dreamily. "Is it not... too much?"

"It isn't, but it almost is."

"You are a stronger person than I am," he says, but the implied compliment doesn't entirely dawn on right now. "Touching you like this… it makes me wish…"

"For our wedding night," she sighs, knowing exactly what he's going to say even as she starts to wonder whether they aren't unnecessarily tormenting one another like this, no matter how exquisite the torture is. "But for now, we should probably… wait. Wait and stop."

"We probably should, yes," he replies, keeping his hands right where they are.

"Before we get out of the water," she says while she takes her head off his shoulder, wanting to do so now that she can still physically bring herself to do so while at the same time not wanting to make an end to this moment now that it has presented itself, "will you hold me?"

"Hold you how?" the knight asks, already withdrawing his hands from her as if he is afraid he'll do something he'll come to regret if he doesn't.

"Just like this, but with your arms around me while you stand against me?"

"Will you stand still when I do?"

"I will," she promises, deducting that there's something about the pressure of their bodies against one another that drives him to great distraction, which is probably similar to the increasingly intense throbbing inside of herself.

"My eyes are closed," he announces before he wraps his arms around her midriff.

"They don't have to be," she finds herself saying while she takes a small step backwards, into his embrace.

"Sweet temptress," he mutters, taking a tiny step towards her as well. "Let's first see if I survive this, shall we?"

"As long as you won't ask me whether I'm  _certain_ that I want to feel all of you against me," she replies playfully, "because I very much  _am_."

"As my lady commands," the knight whispers hoarsely, closing the last few inches between their bodies.


	18. Chapter 18

Belle and her fiancé gasp in unison when the knight presses the front of his body against the back of hers, finally letting her feel what the washing each other - and everything after that - has lead to.

" _Gods,_ " Rumplestiltskin groans when their entirely unclothed bodies fit against one another in the clear water so perfectly that it seems like they are made for each other.

She would have brought out something along the same lines if she would still be capable of speech at all. As it is, she lets out a choked sound of sorts when the throbbing inside of her becomes yet more insistent now that she can feel each and every inch of him.

Later, she'll marvel at the way he fits against her, the way his hardness - she presumes she knows what it is, but she had no idea what it felt like - is pressed snugly against her backside. For now, she gulps in lungful after lungful of much needed air, suppressing the urge to do something… rash. She isn't able to specify such an action, but the current situation most certainly makes her want to do  _something_.

As it is, Belle stands as still as she can given the circumstances, because of his earnest request. The importance of that is increasingly clear to her when she feels the knight trembling behind her. She doesn't quite understand it, but it only adds to the fluttering, aching and clenching which appears to have taken over her body, all of it equally wonderful.

"You feel so good," he heaves against her neck, tightening his hold on her.

"So do you," she brings out, cherishing the ever growing proof that the pleasure of intimacy she heard whispers of isn't only granted to men.

"Belle, when you said that I don't have to keep my eyes closed… do you  _want_ me to look at you?"

"I'd like you to," she replies, sensing that he is asking this as much for her benefit as for his own, "but only if you like to."

"I must say that I... I'm not certain I'll be able to refrain from doing something I shouldn't if I were to see you," he says, sounding both agonized and rather excited by the prospect.

"How about… how about I cover myself with my arms?" she suggests, her only partially functioning mind scrambling for a way that will expand this delightful experience yet further without accidentally ruining it by breaking their self control. "Or at least, partly? The most… important part?"

"I'd really like that," he replies, his shiver resonating through her entire body.

"Good," she says, covering her chest with her arms in such a way that her breasts are mostly covered - and pushed up more than only a little. "You can open your eyes now, if you like."

Rumpelstiltskin doesn't say anything for a while. Their current position doesn't allow her to look at his face and see whether he has actually opened his eyes either. Still, there is no mistaking that he sees everything that she does when she glances down herself, the tops of her breasts covered by her still equally wet arms, when he draws in one shuddering breath after another.

"You are so very lovely, Belle," he says reverently, lightly stroking her belly with equal respectful awe. "When I look at you, when we  _touch_ , I can barely believe that you are real… that our  _engagement_ is real.

"I feel the same way. I'm so happy that all of it  _is_ real."

"So am I."

His hands return to her sides, his caresses feeling yet better than before now that he is so close to her, every once in a while grunting quietly and lightly shifting against her in what seems to be an entirely involuntarily manner.

"Belle, can I…" he asks while brushing his nose against the side of her damp neck.

"Yes,  _yes_ ," she brings out breathlessly, doing her very best not to move right back against him, each and every time he presses himself a little more tightly against her leaving her aching to do something she can't quite define.

That feeling only intensifies further when he lavishes his attention on her neck, the skin there turning out to be much more sensitive than she ever could have thought. Each and every bit of pressure of his nose against it, each and every gush of his relatively cool breath has her gasping.

"Beautiful Belle..."

She whimpers when his tongue darts out to taste her skin there for the first time, right when his fingers have made their way back to her bellybutton. Before long, he is kissing her neck, licking and suckling ever so lightly, his hardness against her getting increasingly… well,  _hard_.

The throbbing inside of her threatens to become unbearable if something isn't done about it very soon. No matter how wonderful all of this is, she can't take it anymore… not like this.

Barely aware of what she's doing, Belle finds herself face to face with the knight a moment later. She must have turned around, must have made an end to their unspoken agreement to keep each other from seeing the front of one another's entirely uncovered bodies, but she can neither recall doing so nor receiving either of their permission to make such a bold, particularly inappropriate move.

Still, Sir Rumplestiltskin doesn't seem to mind if the way he gasps is any indication. His eyes are wide and  _burning_ for her, but they don't stray away from her face. She manages the same, if only because that unforbidden part of him alone is such a thrilling joy to behold - and because she's subconsciously aware that the water they're still standing in will prevent her from properly seeing his lower half.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out. She struggles to find a way to express what she's feeling, how she might make clear to him how she aches for him, how she might formulate her desire for them to do  _something_.

"Belle, I…"

Her fiancé seems to be quite incapable of speech as well, especially when his gaze drifts unmistakably to her lips. Her body acting once more on her own accord, she finds herself leaning in to him subconsciously, only catching herself when she's mere inches away from him. His eyes never leave her mouth the whole time.

One moment they're simply standing there, as close and yet as distant as they have been the whole time since their arrival in the water, and then they're simultaneously moving towards one another.

It's with a mutual sob of relief when they finally,  _finally_ crash their mouths against one another, two sets of arms reaching out for anything they can to hold on to. Their noses bump together and their teeth clash through their lips, but Belle doesn't care in the slightest, barely notices this doubtlessly only initial discomfort when the two of them give in to their desire for each other at last.

She doesn't really know how to kiss and she has learned that Rumplestiltskin doesn't either, but that doesn't matter either when they both intuitively tilt their head a little, allowing their mouths to press together without barriers.

The knight exhales roughly through his almost entirely closed lips and she shudders when she can feel the hot air against her, when she can all but breathe him in. Still, it doesn't quite distract her from the way their bodies are pressed against one another now, her front against his as snug as her back was earlier.

They shift ever so slightly, arms and hands finding more comfortable spots on flushed shoulders and hips, and she almost weeps with longing when the fire inside of her is fueled further when the tops of her breasts rub lightly against his chest.

Her fiancé seems to wordlessly agree that even this closeness isn't nearly enough yet. Belle whimpers in relief when he locks his hands beneath her thighs and easily hoists her up against him, bringing their faces to exactly the same height and allowing her to wrap her legs around his waist without breaking the kiss for only a moment.

If the way he is trembling is any indication, Rumplestiltskin is as overwhelmed by their highly unexpected closeness as she is herself… but unlike her, his legs are carrying both her body and his own now. Having learned to some extent that he is much stronger than he may look, she knows that her added weight isn't the reason that he stumbles almost immediately.

They break their kiss after all when their passion leaves him seemingly unable to remain standing on his feet. He takes a corrective step, and another, but his movements become only more rapid and less controlled when her fiancé attempts to regain his balance.

Despite knowing that he's going to fall and that she will do so as well if she won't try to let go of him, all Belle can do is close her eyes tightly and hold on to him with as much strength as she was doing already.

It can't take more than a single moment, but it feels like half an eternity between him entirely losing his balance and the two of them falling down. Belle mentally braces herself for impact, only to realize after quite a while that the blow of their bodies hitting the water has never come.

When she opens her eyes again at last, she finds herself above the knight, her elbows turning out to be braced on the sand that he's lying on, right next to his face. Blinking slowly, it dawns on her that he must have broken her fall, shielding her body with his own when they stumbled down. Now they are face to face once more, with him on his back and her right above him.

The fact that their lust led to a sort of loss of control she hadn't meant  _at all_  disappears when she sees just how they ended up when he prevented both of them from getting injured. His hands are on her waist to hold up her weight, which is a good thing even though her thighs are on either side of his.

Her bent knees and upper legs may theoretically be capable of supporting her weight like this, but they are useless when she finds just how near to one another their bodies have ended up once more… and that their stumble has taken them all the way to the edge of the lake, only the lower half of their bodies covered by just a few inches of water. The rest of their skin is covered by nothing but some increasingly hot air.

Utterly unable to help herself, Belle's gaze flies down her fiancé's body now that they have ended up once more in a situation where she can admire considerably more of him than than she intended to.

The remaining distance between their bodies may be limited, but that doesn't prevent her from glancing all the way down to the part of his body she has been wondering about the most these days. Right now, it is considerably more… prominent than when she observed him bathing the first time, when he was on his own and hadn't been introduced to her yet.

Guiltily, her gaze flies back to his face, finding that she wasn't the only one who couldn't reign themselves in. His eyes are yet larger and darker than Belle has seen them so far, making absolutely clear to her that this is the first time that he looks at a woman like this and that he very much likes what he sees - not because she's any woman, but because she's the woman he wants to marry for reasons that hardly have to do any longer with politics and strategies.

She notices a slight movement from the corners of her eyes. It draws her attention back to the part of him that's still increasing in size,  _rising_ somehow, until it's almost actually  _touching_ her, right where she instinctively wants him to.

"I want to have you…," she whispers hoarsely, her desire for her fiancé reaching yet new heights. "I want  _you_ to have  _me._ "

"Belle…"

His voice may be as longing as it has ever been, but he still doesn't reach for her in any way, let alone a way in which a husband might touch his wife.

"I want you to  _take_ me, Rumplestiltskin."

"Sweetheart, we  _can't_. We… we  _shouldn't_ …"

"We can and we  _will_ if only we let ourselves."

"Yes, but… it isn't  _proper_ , Belle."

"What does it matter? I don't  _care_ about proper, not anymore. If I can only have one more thing in my life, it would be to lay with you like a wife with her husband… to be with you now that we still can."

"I want that as well," he says, sounding hunted even as his eyes are dark with desire. "But…"

"In a few weeks' time we'll either be dead or married. Both of us."

"I  _know_ , but I can't… I can't tarnish your virtue."

"What about  _your_ virtue, Sir Rumplestiltskin?"

"My virtue isn't worth nearly as much as yours," he pants, his expression positively pained when their eyes meet again.

She would have objected hadn't she seen known him like she does, hadn't he shut his eyes rather than continue to look as shamelessly at her as she at him. Rather than valuing her chastity above anything else while not holding himself to the same standards at all, he simply cares more about her than about himself.

"Please, Belle. Please know how much I want to be with you… how much I  _want_ you. But this isn't right for me. There's only one way I won't regret this afterwards, when I have to leave you behind to ride into battle. That's when we won't be separated anymore... when the war is over, when we're married and  _safe_."

Finding out that her well-being and reputation means more to him than anything else only makes her want her fiancé more… and yet, it also persuades her to wait after all as well, to strive to reach a time of peace where he is as comfortable with being intimate as she already is herself.

"We should… we should get back to the castle," she says, needing to draw from every ounce of strength and determination inside of her to push herself off him and seat herself at his side in the shallow water, facing away from him.

"Yes. I should report the status of the troops to your father and…"

Although she can't see him any longer, Belle can practically hear the relief in his voice. It makes her feel better too… or at least, until she sees their blood-covered clothes floating in the water nearby and realizes how they got into this situation in the first place.

"It appears we have some washing to do first," she interrupts, also seeing that his bar of soap has drifted off to the other side of the lake.

"I'll… I'll go get that," he says, coming to the same conclusion.

Forcing herself not to look when her fiancé - her beautiful, still very  _naked_ fiancé - gets back into the water to retrieve the soap, Belle reaches for the nearest article of clothing and begins to forcefully rub its blood-stained fabric.


	19. Chapter 19

Despite knowing that she should get some much-needed sleep now that she can, Belle is bouncing through her room in excitement once she has changed into her nightgown.

 _A ball_.

No such festivity - or any festivity, really - has been organized at the castle in the past few years, but that isn't the reason why she's beyond excited about the announcement.

 _An_ engagement  _ball_.

Rumplestiltskin and she may want each other like they are husband and wife already, but that doesn't change the fact that they aren't even officially engaged yet… but they will be, very soon.

 _Tomorrow_.

She always imagined that it would be like this, her official engagement brief and hasty, scheduled in between battles, but not in a million years she would have thought that she would look forward to it so much before meeting Rumplestiltskin, who makes her wish that they had married yesterday rather than doing so at a still undetermined time in the future.

Still, Belle knows only too well that, in a way, there are still countless Ogres standing between her and her husband. On top of that, just this morning she was reminded how Rumplestiltskin and she are practically living in their own bubble of bliss in a life of war, when her father awkwardly explained to her why a long engagement was out of the question, having no idea just how much the two of them want to get married.

But at least being engaged to the knight will be one step closer to letting everyone know how they feel about one another… one step closer to truly being wife and husband, of being able to do whatever they want, being all alone and - hopefully – living in a world of in peace.

As it is, her fiancé has to return to the battlefield very soon, but for now she'll have at least a few more hours of holding him and being held by him… of  _dancing_ with him. She savors the prospect yet more because she hasn't seen Rumplestiltskin since they made their way from the lake back to the castle, her body still heated despite the damp clothes she was wearing, both of them pointedly not looking at one another.

She hasn't seen him for two days now, their duties keeping them away from another, but tomorrow there'll be a few hours of happiness, of music and smiles and caresses. Hopefully, this time she won't be too overwhelmed by his nearness to fully appreciate it, and…

A sudden knock on the door of her chambers leaves Belle standing dead in her tracks, but only for a moment. There's no one who usually might visit her here, not anymore, and especially not at this hour. No one… except for her fiancé.

Her heart beating rapidly in excitement, she rushes to the door and opens it wildly. Just like she expected, she finds the man she was daydreaming about on her doorstep, his hand raised to knock again.

"Rumplestiltskin," she cries out happily.

"Belle!" he replies, smiling a little when he sees her… only for him to look away immediately when he glances at her body.

"Come  _on_ ," she sighs good-heartedly, pulling him into the room before he can object. "At this point you can't be scandalized by seeing me in my nightgown, can you?"

"I suppose not," he says, following her with another small smile.

"After all, you've seen me in far less," she replies, unable to keep a teasing tone from her voice.

"As you have seen me," he replies, shivering deliciously at the reminder. "It's just… I didn't mean to disturb you, Belle. I did presume you were preparing for bed, if you weren't asleep already, but…"

"You wanted to see me when your meeting with my father and his counselors was over," she concludes, realizing that he must have been as thrilled by the prospect of seeing her today after all as she is herself.

"Exactly, although I must admit that I have an ulterior motive."

"I wonder what that might be," she says, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

Really, had he been any other man she would have known  _exactly_ why he visits her all alone in her chambers just before midnight, the very night before their engagement will be announced. But in the case of Sir Rumplestiltskin, she truly has no idea. Come to think of it, he's the only person she can't imagine ever having an ulterior motive.

"There'll be a ball tomorrow," he elaborates. "A ball that I'm invited to."

"A good thing too, for you'll be there as my fiancé," she replies, stepping towards him to take his hand in hers.

"Indeed," he says, reaching for her other hand is well. "It'll require me to dance."

"Such a horrible prospect it must be, to dance with your future wife," she winks at him, pulling at his hands in an attempt to tempt him to already dance with her.

"A very lovely prospect indeed," he says, despite his words not moving with her. "But the fact is…"

"What is it?" she asks, coming to a standstill when she sees the serious expression on his face.

"I can't dance, Belle. I never got the chance to learn. More than that, there never was a reason for me to. But I do want to learn, so I can dance with you at our engagement ball… at our  _wedding."_

"I want that too," she breathes, inwardly swooning at the mere thought.

"Can you teach me to dance? I know it's less than a day until the ball, but…"

"That simply means we have to practice a lot tonight," she says, beaming with excitement at the prospect.

"Yes, exactly. But only if you don't mind… I know that it's late and that you're probably exhausted after working in the infirmary all day and…"

"You silly man, thinking I'd rather sleep than dance with you."

"Unless you were to sleep with me, I dare hope," he says, giving her a mischievous smile that almost has her dragging him straight to her bed right there and then. "I… I mean… I didn't mean to..."

He looks at her sheepishly in reaction to what might as well be the most spontaneous thing he has ever said to her… and the most bold. It makes her yet happier to discover a hint of this playful side of him, one she hopes to bring out often in the future.

"Of course I'll teach you how to dance," she says, squeezing his hand in encouragement, "although I'm hardly an expert myself."

Her fiancé looks at her with such gratitude that all she can do is throw herself into his arms, pressing herself tightly to him. Belle basks in the chance of further familiarizing herself with him, committing as much of his scent and the feeling of his body to memory as she can now that she can - now that both of them are safe and healthy for the time being and they still can do something like this.

"I'm sorry for dropping you," he mutters into her hair. "When we were… bathing."

"Don't be sorry for that," she replies, burying her face into his chest. "It wasn't your fault and no harm came from it. Next time we'll just have to be a bit more mindful of our surroundings."

"Yes, we should, though I'm not certain I  _can_ when I'm with you," he mutters, the whisper of his breath against her skin making her only more aware of the bed right behind them.

Getting entirely carried away is what got them into a predicament last time in the first place, which helps Belle to refocus on the reason why he approached her tonight.

"Let's start with the waltz," she announces, taking a small step away from him. "That's what we'll be probably be dancing the most at the ball."

"A waltz," he echoes, managing to nod while looking particularly questioning at the same time.

"I'll show you."

Belle places her left hand on his shoulder and stretches the right one away from them in example.

"Take my hand in your left and put your right hand on my shoulder blade," she explains, shivering pleasantly when he does just that, these touches too not failing to impact her like just about each and every physical contact between them does, no matter how functional or light. "I suppose we'll have to make up the music for now."

"What kind of music will there be?"

She momentarily forgets about music altogether when she considers his curiosity, along with the reminder that he is unfamiliar with such formal events.

"We used to have a small orchestra playing all sorts of music, although I suppose that will be difficult to arrange now. But there must be  _some_ instruments left… and some musicians."

Not wanting to linger on the loss and cruelty of war for a moment, she thinks of the first tune that comes to her mind, a song of long-gone carefree days. Humming under her breath, she sways a little, for a moment imagining her fiancé and herself in a beautiful, undamaged ballroom, the type she imagines kings and queens to dance in.

Reality sets back in soon enough, but for the moment that's hardly less pleasant than the fantasy when she finds Rumplestiltskin looking fondly at her, humming the repeating parts of the tune along with her.

"How about I show you the first few steps and we practice those together? After that we can see how we might proceed."

"Sounds good to me," he says, stepping back despite his words. To her confusion, he also removes his shoes and jerkin, only to move back to their previous pose on his own accord immediately afterwards. "Something tells me this is going to be more demanding than fighting Ogres… and that I'll hurt your feet by accidentally stepping on them enough as it is without wearing shoes."

Now that she understands why he did this, she is thoroughly pleased with his initiative, if for different reasons; it's yet more wonderful to be with him now that he too is bare-foot and his upper body is also covered by only a single layer of graying white cotton.

Consequently, her attention is more on his beautiful, wholly relaxed face - and the bit of his chest she can glance at through the opening of his shirt - than on the actual dancing lesson. Still, they are moving through the room without too much trouble soon enough, both of them continuing to hum the music they are dancing to.

It is a delightful back and forth of colliding feet, muttered apologies, near tumblings and wide smiles, twirling around the small room as they master more and more of the waltz. It's no surprise to her that he's by far the most enjoyable dancing partner she's ever had, despite his inexperience and continued missteps, his grasp on her just right and his body moving perfectly in sync with her own.

Soon enough, Belle is hardly aware any longer of the dance as such, her entire being lightheaded with his nearness, with  _him_ , and she doesn't ever want it to end. Hence it's hardly a surprise that, after an amount of time that could be either minutes or hours, they stumble over their own feet all over again.

But this time, there is no doubt in her mind whatsoever about where and how they will end up, and she happily falls backwards right along with him. She grins the whole way to her bed, their grasp on one another never loosening only slightly.

"We really seem to be incapable of avoiding situations like this," she smiles, her attempt to catch her breath hardly succeeding now that she's lying on her back on her bed with her fiancé's body pinning her down to the mattress.

"We do, don't we?"

There's something about the way he looks at her, the way his breath is shallow and irregular, that informs her that he too is in fact very pleased by how they have ended up once more. At any rate, the situation is slightly less difficult to control now that both of them are still wearing at least  _some_ clothes.

Then again, it's temptingly easy to think back on the passion they shared before - to  _ache_ for it - when Rumplestiltskin moves a little, making both of them more comfortable in their current position rather than moving away from her.

His gaze is once more solely focused on her mouth, making it easier yet to do nothing but reach for him and inwardly cheer in excitement when he leans into her as well.


	20. Chapter 20

When the kiss she expected doesn't come, Belle opens her eyes again, finding her fiancé's face right above hers, looking down at her in wonder rather than expressing his affection for her in a more physical way.

"You're never just going to kiss me, are you?" she mutters languidly, more amused than frustrated.

"I… well, I…"

He looks sheepishly at her, as if the thought hadn't even occurred to him to simply press his lips against hers now that he has his fiancée pinned against her bed… and as if he doesn't quite know  _how_ now that he has.

Their dancing lesson entirely forgotten, she runs appreciative hands over his hair and cheeks, savoring the way he sighs quietly and closes his eyes. It'll never cease to amaze her how these most innocent of touches leave the seasoned knight quivering none too lightly.

"My dearest Belle, just looking at you makes me…

Rumplestiltskin falters again, but she knows exactly what he means, especially when he trails reverent fingertips along her cheek.

"I know," she whispers, sighing gratefully.

She shifts a little beneath him, making herself yet more comfortable. She's bewildered - and slightly frustrated - that her fiancé hasn't lowered his body on top of hers, maintaining some distance between them even now.

Belle grew up being wary of marriage, of  _men_ , but now that she's sharing her bed with the man she might as well be married to already, she finds the exact opposite of the indifference or even cruelty she expected.

In fact…

She licks her lip in a far from casual manner, smiling when his gaze is immediately drawn to her mouth and he slightly leans in to her in what probably is an entirely subconscious gesture.

"Sweetheart, I was thinking… until we're married, we can't…  _touch._ But maybe there's… maybe there's other things we can do? Slightly less… impactful things? If you like?"

"I'd definitely like that," she says, to her mild frustration not sounding nearly as coy as she would like to be for just a little while, if only to see if she can give her disciplined future husband a taste of his own medicine. "Is there anything in particular you have in mind?"

"Well, I…"

He's  _staring_ at her mouth by now, but rather than finally closing the distance between them, he moves away from her altogether.

"What…"

Before she can express her confusion, Rumplestiltskin seats himself on her bed, his back against the wall next to it, and offers her his hand.

"I was probably going to collapse if I were to kiss you like that," he explains, his cheeks reddening. "I don't want to crush you, sweetheart."

"That's very thoughtful of you," she says, offering him her thin pillow to put between the wall and his back before eagerly taking his hand. "Although it makes me wonder how we might get through our wedding night."

The remark was meant as a joke, but her smile fades from her lips when he lightly pulls her towards him. Hiking up her nightgown to her thighs to accommodate their closeness, his gaze resting heavily on her bare legs, she sits down on his upper thighs and suddenly knows  _exactly_ how she wants to start their first night as a married couple.

His hands are on her waist, caressing experimentally, the soft look of wonder never leaving his face. She reaches for it, her smile returning when she leans in to him.

The last - and only - time they kissed, she was too caught up in the heat of the moment to really savor it, let alone remember it, the positioning of their lips probably the least exciting aspect of the way they moved together, her legs ending up around his waist and their bare chests pressed tightly together.

But now they are relatively clothed, relatively calm, and it appears that neither of them know how to proceed now that they aren't half gone with desire for one another.

It doesn't quite matter, for it's enchanting in its own right to caress the knight's cheeks and jaw, his nose and brow, while he runs his hands lovingly through her hair. Being so close to one another already, it becomes entirely natural soon enough to simply close the distance between their faces.

This time, their kiss is hardly more than a brush of lips, but that lovely fluttering sensation inside of her is evoked immediately. It only increases when they press their mouths together a little more firmly and she experimentally tilts her head to the left, so their noses aren't squashed together so awkwardly any longer.

She sighs happily against his lips, especially when Rumplestiltskin continues to stroke her sides. Not distracted by anything - except for, of course, the light pressure of his hands on her hips - she can give their kiss all the attention it deserves, lose herself in the softness of his lips and the warmth of his breath.

Her smile against his mouth fades however once more when he moves a little and ends up nibbling on her lower lip. No matter how lovely it felt to have their mouths pressed against one another, that's nothing compared to  _this_.

Eager to try this as well, Belle subsequently takes his lower lip between hers, biting on it very lightly. He grunts rather loudly in response, but it's still a sound of unmistakable pleasure. As if something wild and beautiful has been awoken within him, the knight kisses her with a boldness he has never expressed before, slanting his lips over hers with determined enthusiasm.

Belle gasps in delight, particularly when his tongue wordlessly asks permission for entrance. She is more than happy to grant it to him, moaning as well when he carefully brushes his tongue against hers, right when she presses herself more firmly against him and tightens her hold on him.

There's nothing tentative about his movements any longer after that response. She reacts with equal vigor when Rumplestiltskin further deepens their kiss. Until that moment, she didn't really know what to do, but now she finds that her body somehow  _exactly_ knows how to react to him.

Blindly clinging to him and keeping her eyes tightly closed when they practically devour one another, she gets as close to him as she possibly can. Because of that increased nearness, she feels his hardness like she has never done before and she marvels at the way it fits right between her spread legs, at the pleasurable sensations that his presence there sends spreading throughout her.

Rather than stopping her like she half expected he would, her fiancé gives in to their desire as much as she does herself, groaning his delight against her skin. No matter how much she would like it to be otherwise, she can't continue kissing him, not when the friction between their bodies has her crying out over and over again, all her focus on the origin of the fire coursing through her veins.

Rumplestiltskin appears to be in a similar state, groaning against her neck each and every time she rocks her body against his, the increasingly purposeful movements guided by his hands. His breath is rough and quick just like her own, and she loves that she can do this to him, to  _both_ of them.

Although they aren't kissing any longer, it turns out that their mouths have to remain unoccupied. Belle cries out in delight when he latches onto her neck with still very eager and enthusiastic lips. She is quick to return the favor, giggling with giddiness when he  _shudders_ when she carefully nips at his throat with her teeth.

She doesn't quite know what is happening between them or where this might be leading too; in the limited information she has managed to gather about the more… physical aspects of her marriage, there was no mention whatsoever about anything like  _this_.

It's hardly the first time that her fiancé has awoken such a fire within her, but it has never been this intense, hasn't made her feel before that there might be something yet  _more_ to be found in this frantic mess of their - for now - mostly covered bodies.

"We have… we have to stop, sweetheart. We can't do  _this_ … not yet."

His words dawn on her only when he gently but insistently pushes her a little off him.

"What's wrong?!" she cries out, looking at him in alarm. "Did you not like what we were doing?!"

The notion that he might have disliked their intimacy is as shocking to her as the fact that her fiancé just made a sudden end to it.

"I like it very much," he says, his smile putting her at ease immediately. "But I like it a little  _too_ much… and it felt like you did so as well."

" _Oh_ ," she mutters, realization dawning. "We got carried away again, didn't we?"

"I think we definitely did," he says, stroking her shoulders lightly. "I didn't  _want_ to stop, but I was afraid that I'd lose control if we didn't."

Subconsciously, her gaze flies to where his desire for her was most tangible, straining against the suddenly rather indecently tight fabric of his trousers.

"Do you… do you know what causes it?" she asks, her eyes never leaving his manhood, especially not when it seems to  _move_ slightly under her very gaze.

"It happens a little whenever I think of you, particularly when I think about touching you," he replies, his voice wonderfully hoarse. "But it's never been like  _this_. I think… it's because of what we're doing. Being so close to one another… because of our kisses. And because I… because I wonder what might happen, what it might feel like when we finally don't have to stop anymore."

The way he looks at her, his very gaze caressing her with tenderness and abandon alike even when his actual body doesn't, makes Belle shiver in delight despite the distance between them.

"Do you feel anything like that as well?" he asks, his eyes resting on the part of her body where  _his_ clearly betrays his interest.

"I do," she nods, yet happier with what they have found together because of the renewed discovery that she can talk to him about everything and anything, beyond the pleasure that she too can find in their union.

"Belle, can I ask where…  _how_ …"

"I'll show you," she breathes, not quite knowing how to put the exquisite throbbing between her legs into words.

She takes his hand and guides it to the apex of her thighs, her nightgown still covering her there offering some decency - and at the same time, no decency at all. Noting how her betrothed's breath hitches in his throat, Belle is only more delighted to press his palm and curious fingers against the most forbidden part of herself, gasping at the pressure the contact provides through the worn cotton of her nightgown and underwear.

"Sweetheart…" he whispers in awe, looking up from their joined hands to meet her gaze.

"I know my body is different than yours is, but it… you make me feel really good, too."

She doesn't know whether she shifts a little or whether Rumplestiltskin applies slightly more pressure against her herself, but there's definitely  _something_ in their touch which somewhat increases, leaving her moaning when pleasure shoots throughout her.

There had been a delicious pressure of sorts building when their bodies rocked together, but now she feels that rubbing herself against his hardness through the fabrics of their clothing won't be enough. However, if he were to touch her directly with his bare fingers...

At the same time, she wants to touch him too, right there where his arousal is more obvious than it has ever been, to find out what it's like to mirror what he's doing for her now. Belle reaches for him with eager fingers, but he gently but firmly grasps her wrist in his hand which was previously touching him so intimately.

"Sweetheart, we've got to stop this."

"We can't do this yet, can we?" she says, reminded once again that, no matter how much it does feel like it, they aren't actually married yet.

"We really can't, no," he replies, looking as frustrated as she is herself. "We  _shouldn't_."

"We shouldn't," she agrees. "But next time… maybe we can."

"I'm looking forward to it so very much," he says, taking her hand to give it an innocent but still ever so lovely squeeze… only for him to go still when he stares at something on her neck.

"What is it?" she asks, following his gaze but unable to see what caught his attention.

"I… I don't know. You've got a… thing there," he says, his fingers brushing over the skin which was previously caressed by his lips.

"You've got one, too," she says, understanding what he's talking about when she notices a spot of darkened skin on his throat. "It's right where I kissed you."

"... oh," he says, his gaze as intrigued as his tone is distracted. "Do you suppose it'll be gone before the ball tomorrow?"

"I've got no idea. I don't exactly have experience with this."

"Of course not," he says, his cheeks coloring yet more brightly when he looks away from her neck at last. "I didn't mean to imply…"

"I know you didn't," she says gently, taking pity on him. "I'm certain it will be all right… at least they are at places which our clothing ought to cover."

"It's probably best if we don't have to explain it others, yes. After all, I suppose we can't blame the Ogres for  _this_."

"I don't think so either," she giggles happily. "But I'll love knowing that it's there, even if we can't see it."

"To remind us of tonight, of  _us_."

"Exactly."

The mere mention of Ogres however, no matter how trivial, is enough to remind her that the war which is between them and their marriage is far from won yet. Sensing that he's thinking along exactly the same lines when their smiles fall, Belle throws herself back into his arms for no other reason than to hold on to her fiancé as long and as tightly as she possibly can.


	21. Chapter 21

Despite the excitement that her engagement ball causes both among the many people around her and especially within herself, Belle is oblivious to her surroundings. Although she'd be greatly pleased by the hope and sheer liveliness of all the guests, she only has eyes for the door through which her very soon to be official fiancé will appear at any time.

She wonders what he'll think of her when he sees her - or rather, what he'll think of the rather daring golden dress she is wearing. She's worn it before, in long gone days, but he has never seen her in it before.

It doesn't fit her nearly as well as it used to, the thinness of her body a harsh reminder of the war she hopes to forget about if only for a single evening. Then again, that lack of meat on her ones is a particularly good excuse to wear a modest purple shawl over her shoulders. That addition to her dress nicely prevents his mark, which she still carries with pride, from being seen by anyone else. Although there was no note attached to the shawl when she found it on her doorstep this morning, she knows very well who gave it to her.

The knight himself enters the great hall under loud applause from the gathered crowd, but he too appears to have only eyes for her. She subconsciously bites her lower lip when she takes in the sight of Sir Rumplestiltskin, just as dressed up as she is herself.

She doesn't know where he got these clothes or what made him get out of the set of items he has worn each and every time they met - well, apart from that very first time, of course. But he makes a particularly striking sight now that he's wearing new clothing: his dark trousers appear to be made out of leather and are almost indecently tight; his shining brown jerkin fits him almost just as well and the open, pristine white shirt underneath reveals a tantalizing glimpse of his chest.

Belle is distracted by his appearance to the extent that she almost misses his reaction to  _her_ , but she's just in time to see him stand dead in his tracks and gasp for breath as he takes in the sight of her. Beyond flattered, she realizes that they have never seen each other like this before, dressed for no other purpose than to look as well as they can.

Although she breathes in deeply for the sole sake of getting some much needed air into her lungs, it only dawns on her that the movement make her breasts appear to be yet larger than the dress itself does. Rumplestiltskin already knows what she looks like, has seen her in considerably more scandalous ways than this, and yet his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush in unmistakable desire.

She's vaguely aware that her father gives a speech - a rather lengthy one - on the hardships of war and the hope of a bright future. Only afterwards, the love of her life is finally back in her arms once more, although in a decisively more public way than previous time - than any time, really - right when another separation is nearing… right when she has never wanted him more than before.

But in the last hours she might as well spend with him are not the time to think of war and death, but to get as far away from it as possible. They don't speak when they begin their first dance as soon as the musicians begin to play, their eyes containing more happiness and gratitude than mere words could ever express.

Rumplestiltskin's movements betray every once in a while that he learned to dance only yesterday, but her own footwork isn't so stellar either as she has attention for nothing and no-one but the man in her arms, the man who will be her husband whenever the Ogres might be defeated.

They move together over the dance floor as if they have done so all their lives, as if they  _will_ do so for the rest of their lives. It's probably a good thing that the quick rhythm of the songs played requires all of her attention, for she doesn't want to linger on the fact that this might as well be the very last time they are together.

When Rumplestiltskin twirls her around the great hall without ever letting go of her for only the briefest of moments, it's indeed almost -  _almost_ \- possible for her to believe that they have nothing to conquer but trade disagreements and petty misunderstandings with neighboring rulers.

Belle holds on to that feeling - onto her  _fiancé_ \- as much as she can throughout the evening, especially when she catches her father's meaningful gaze right before yet another song is about to end.

"Papa is going to make the announcement soon," she whispers into his ear, shivering in excitement and delight.

Indeed, the musicians don't begin another song when the last tunes of the current one have faded away. Her father stands up from his seat in its central position of the great hall, gesturing at the couple to come forward.

They make their way through the front of the crowd hand in hand, her smile as happy as her fiancé's. Once again, she's grateful that she can practically hold on to him, if only because she's so giddy that she can barely walk in a straight line. Judging from the unrivaled grin on his face, their almost official engagement leaves the seasoned knight in a rather similar state.

She has only eyes for Rumplestiltskin when her father announces their engagement to the people - who once will be  _their_ people, if the Ogres can be defeated before they slaughter everyone like she once was convinced they would do. It has always seemed right that the man who has given the people such hope would be the very one who would aspire a similar sentiment in her, but now she wishes that her fiancé will one day give her people a happy future, just like he has done for her.

She tries to pay attention to the speech of her father, if only because she wants to remember as much of this moment as she can, but the world has reduced itself once more to her fiancé. He too seems to pay no attention whatsoever to anything or anyone but her, positively beaming at her now that her father finally makes their engagement public and official.

The subsequent cheering of the people gathered in the hall is so loud that they catch even their attention however. Finding out that they approve of the match of their future ruler makes her smile yet wider. To her ever increasing delight, their reaction has a similar effect on her fiancé.

In that very moment, Belle thought she couldn't possibly be any happier, but he proves her wrong in the most wonderful way possible yet again, sinking down to his knees in front of her. With their engagement having developed from highly formal to so very personal in such a short span of time the way it has, it hadn't occurred to her that he might formally propose to her in person after all.

As it is, she finds herself giggling with delight and nodding furiously when Rumpelstiltskin retrieves a narrow golden ring from his pocket with a questioning look on his face. The ring must have been there all along when they danced - and who knows for how much longer - but she had no idea whatsoever that he was going to do anything like this.

Tears of happiness well in her eyes when he carefully slides the nicely fitting engagement ring around her finger, making her  _his_ for as much as he possible can at this point. His eyes are rather wet as well when he looks up at her from his position at her feet.

The people surrounding them are applauding loudly once more. For the first time, Belle truly believes what her father has always told her, that a good match for her brings hope and strength to the people she's meant to rule one day along with her husband. Not only because he will be their ruler as well, but because they may find joy in their personal happiness, if only a little.

Rumplestiltskin kisses her hand tenderly, standing up at last only after a while. There's no doubt that he too wants to savor this moment as much as possible, just like she does herself. But no matter how lovely it is just to stand there like that with him, she's equally happy to pull him in for another dance when the musicians began to play again.

"No one seems very surprised by our engagement," he says when they're moving over the dance floor once more.

"Did you expect that people would be?" she asks carefully, rather surprised herself by the pointedly neutral tone of his voice.

"I don't quite know. I was afraid to expect anything, to be honest, so I tried not to expect anything at all."

"Why were you afraid?!" she asks, looking up at him as he continues to twirl her through the great hall.

"They are your people, Belle. They will be  _our_ people when we are married. What they think is important. It  _matters_. But I wasn't certain…"

"What were you not certain of?" she asks when he falters, looking at her as if he still can't entirely believe that all of this is real, that  _they_ are real.

"It's still beyond me that you deem yourself worthy of me, sweetheart. There must be something about me that you like, that persuaded you to spend the rest of your life with me by accepting me as your husband. But the people… for better or worse, they hardly know me."

"Let's not talk about this," she says fiercely, shocked that he has such doubts about himself. "I love you, Rumplestiltskin, and..."

Belle intended to continue telling him that the people will no doubt accept and admire him yet more than they already do when they get to know him better, just like she has. Only when he stills and looks at her with wide, surprised eyes, she fully realizes what she just said… that it's the first time that she's actually spoken the words which she has only thought until now.

"I  _love_ you, Rumplestiltskin," she repeats, much more purposeful this time. "You know that, don't you?"

"I love you too, Belle," he whispers, both of them having come to a complete standstill by now, oblivious to the curious people all around them. "I… I suspected that my feelings were returned, but…"

" _I love you_ ," she says again, sensing that those words are more persuasive than anything else she might be able to say or do.

Then again, when Rumplestiltskin simply sweeps her into his arms and kisses her soundly on the lips, he shares the affection, desire and need that has been between them almost from the very beginning in an at least equally convincing way.

The kiss isn't nearly as long or deep as they have shared before, nor is it characterized by the sheer abandon they have experienced together, but Belle is utterly breathless and flustered regardless by the time he lets go of her.

She stares at her fiancé, the wonderful man who keeps surprising her over and over again, until the cheers, laughter and a few scandalized coughs coming from all around them catch her attention.

Rumplestiltskin seems rather surprised that they aren't all alone after all. Still grinning widely, she reaches for him with the hand that now carries his ring, pulling him closer to her to continue their dance.

"The ring is beautiful," she says to him, hoping to distract him now that his spontaneous and very public physical expression of affection has left him rather tense.

"I'm very glad you like it, sweetheart. It was my mother's wedding ring. It's not that… well, there  _were_ not many alternatives, but I truly thought you might like it."

"I do. It's beautiful, Rumplestiltskin. I'm very glad and honored to wear it."

He smiles at her, visibly relaxing right when the musicians began to play a different, considerably slower song. It belongs to one of the dances they practiced the night before… the very dance that had them falling backwards onto her bed.

There's no stumbling whatsoever this time when he guides her through the steps and pirouettes, dipping her low to the ground every once in a while. It's as if she's floating; only her fiancé's ever so slightly trembling arms prevent her from falling to the ground in such moments, but she completely relies on him to keep her perfectly safe in this suspended moment of bliss like she has never trusted anything else before.

Their tiny bubble of happiness bursts once more however before the dance is even finished. They are the last couple to become aware of the unrest among the gathered people, but once they finally look away from each other there's no mistaken the soldiers who rush inside the great hall.

One of them is already insistently whispering to her father, two others heading directly for Rumplestiltskin. Although she hasn't heard any of them speak yet, there can be only one reason why the soldiers are disturbing their engagement ball: the Ogres are marching on their lands, on this very castle, and sooner than expected.

"Let's hope that the ball of our wedding will be undisturbed at least," Rumpelstiltskin says, reluctantly letting go of her.

_Let's hope there will be a wedding at all,_ Belle finds herself thinking, but the doesn't put that thought into words, not wanting to make the situation any worse than it already is. Instead, she nods in agreement to what he just said.

Both of them know that he has to leave straight away and that there's no predicting if -  _when_ \- he might return. But instead of stepping away from her immediately, Rumplestiltskin lingers at her side for one more moment.

"The next time I see you will be at the altar," he breathes against her skin with a determination that surprises her even now.

"The next time I see you after that, will be in our marital bed," she whispers hotly into his ear before she can think better of it.

He nods strongly as he steps away from her with almost tangible reluctance. There's a fire in his eyes, the same she supposes is burning in hers, and she almost - but not quite - pities the Ogres who will be between them and their reunion.

Still, no matter how much she wishes that they could get married at this very moment, get started with the peaceful life both of them are craving, there is still a war to be won. Being stronger than she is in this regard, Rumplestiltskin bows one final time for her before stepping away from her after all.

Sensing that she had never been able to be the one to move away herself, Belle watches quietly how her knight walks briskly out of the great hall without looking back.


	22. Chapter 22

"Where is he?!"

Frantically looking around at what is left of the castle where she has lived all her life, Belle is vaguely aware that there's no point in crying out for her fiancé. Neither he nor anyone who might have seen him is likely to hear her in the cacophony that has emerged after the last Ogre was finally slain, a hell of a whole new kind erupting even after the battle was over at last.

In her heart she has always known that the Ogres would overrun the castle and its lands at some point. The knight she is desperate to marry may have given him hope far beyond expectation by making and executing a plan which held them off for as long as they did, but it was only a matter of time before they broke past the outer layer of defense he held for weeks to destroy the castle and the surrounding lands after all.

" _Where is Sir Rumplestiltskin?!"_

She doesn't allow herself to think yet that she might not find the love of her life in one piece, that the luck or fate - whatever it was - which allowed Rumplestiltskin to come out of so many battles relatively unscathed has finally run out. Going through the ruins of the castle, bodies of her people and Ogres alike still littering the once neat and prosperous streets, horror yet more overwhelming than when she fought in the battle herself overwhelms her.

Even if Rumplestiltskin is still healthy, the loss she sees all around her has tears rolling down her cheeks. She dreads to think how few of the people she has known all her life have survived - and how many have not. At least she has found out that her father is still alive; seeing so much death all around her, it suddenly seems very unlikely that the two people who mean the world to her are  _both_  still well.

Belle calls out for her husband again, but no one pays her any attention, the few people around her too busy looking for their own loved ones or tending to the wounded. She'll do the latter herself, swapping the bow and quiver she's still holding for her apron and soothing herbs, but first she has to find out what has become of her fiancé.

She has always dreamed of being heroic, has always strived to be useful to her father and her people at the very least, but faced with the sheer chaos and destruction all around her she finds that there is very little glory in the fact that she slain no less than four Ogres with her bow and arrows.

When she reaches the inner gate, she's relieved to find it still standing, the portcullis shut. She recalls only too well how vital that gate and the portcullis was in Rumplestiltskin's strategy: it was purposefully left open for the Ogres to find once they had broken through the outer gate, oblivious that the courtyard beyond was filled with barrels of the flammable powders that he thought the soldiers to make, rather than with the helpless people they intended to prey on.

Shutting the inner gate behind the Ogres and setting alight the barrels gathered there was planned to be the turning point of the battle for the castle: afterwards, every man, woman and child still capable of yielding any weapon launched themselves at the confused, hurt Ogres which were still alive as soon as the people came out of their reinforced hiding places right after the explosion, under her command.

None of those people would still be here if it hadn't been for her fiancé's most pivotal plan, which included Rumplestiltskin himself igniting the explosion. No matter how grateful she is that they have defeated the Ogres - with so many dead or injured, it can hardly be called a victory - it all seems so empty and meaningless now that she doesn't even know whether her knight survived this final battle in the first place.

There is a commotion right next to the inner gate, people gathering there among worried muttering and urgently shouted instructions. Belle instinctively heads towards it, arriving right when the portcullis is slightly pulled up and someone appears to be dragged away from underneath it.

She doesn't recognize the blood-covered person at first, numb pity going out to whoever appears to have had the spiked grill of the gate fall on top of them. But her breath is stuck in her throat and her heart skips several beats when some of the bystanders turn the person's face towards them and wipe his dirty hair out of his face.

Belle realizes that this person is in fact the love of her life before the people around him cry out his name in horror. She has learned that the amount of blood on his clothes and skin doesn't say anything about his health so the gore as such doesn't disturb her, but the way his eyes are glazed over and stare into nothing and his skin is awfully pale disturbs her deeply.

He hardly responses to questions and prompts from the people who got him out from beneath the gate and she sinks to her knees in horror, dropping her bow to clasp her hands over her mouth when it dawns on her that the love of her life seems to be more dead than alive.

The people addressing him must have recognized her, for she is distantly aware of hands supporting her and guiding her to her fiancé's side even though her legs are no longer capable of carrying her weight.

She holds back a sob, if only for his sake, when she kneels down next to the seemingly lifeless form of the man she loves. His eyes are still open but they look right past her; it appears that he isn't even aware of her presence.

"Rumplestiltskin?" she whimpers, but neither the volume nor the tone of her voice draws his attention to her after all.

Fighting back her tears, she takes in his state, trying in vain to pretend that he is any other patient rather than the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with. Objectively, the damage appears to be less severe than she initially thought: although he's covered in cuts and bruises, the portcullis has hit his lower right leg rather than other, more essential parts of his body.

Still, his ankle is shattered by the looks of it and although he doesn't show it - not yet, anyway - there's no doubt in her mind that he is in excruciating pain and that he will probably lose his leg and thus his livelihood in case he will actually survive this.

People are gathering around them, more than she thought were still alive to begin with, but that too is hardly a relief right now. From the way they murmur against one another, she concludes that the plan Rumplestiltskin made didn't work out the way they hoped; because the men which were meant to lower the portcullis right after he had ignited the explosive powder were grabbed by a few Ogres which stayed behind, he had to do so himself.

Consequently, carrying out the plan took much longer than intended: between making a head-start in lowering the spiked grate all by himself, creating a longer inflammable trail to the barrels and removing the last ropes and chains which kept the portcullis closed, the Ogres gathered in the courtyard began to sense that they were lured into a trap.

In the end, Rumplestiltskin managed to cut off the Ogres' escape route – and his own - by letting the portcullis fall shut with seconds to spare, but he didn't make it back to the safe side of it… or at least, not entirely. He was able to crawl just far enough behind the gate to be protected from the blast of the explosion, but his leg was stuck under the spiked bars until the battle was finally over.

Having gotten to know the knight like she has, having had the joy to know the man behind the reputation, Belle is hardly surprised to learn that her fiancé has sacrificed himself to save everyone else. Still, that doesn't prevent her from wishing that there would have been another way.

None of that helps him even slightly however and she gulps in lungfuls of smoky, heavy air, trying to think of a way to ease his pain… to make certain that his spirit hasn't been broken and a part of him isn't dead already yet.

"Rumplestiltskin," she says, more firmly than the previous time, at the same time reaching for his face. "It's me. Belle."

He blinks once, twice, his terrifyingly blank gaze focusing on her after all at length. There's barely any of the light in his eyes that's usually there when they lay eyes on one another. She caresses his face with grimy hands, not having a single piece of clean fabric with which she can clean his skin.

" _Belle_ ," he rasps, "my sweet wife."

"Yes, it's me," she manages to say, wondering if he's hallucinating or simply practically considers the two of them already married, even now, like she does herself.

"It hurts so much," he brings out, looking at her with pleading eyes. "Belle,  _please_ …"

She doesn't know what he's begging for, only that she's very unlikely to be able to provide it for him no matter what it is.

"A healer," she mutters weakly to no one in particular of the people surrounding them, "he needs to be tended to by a healer."

She forgets about the onlookers the very moment she hears them reply in agreement, those words followed by a few pair of hurried footsteps, informing her that people have run out to fetch a healer - never mind that she knows only too well that there are too few healers and too many other wounded.

For now, there's nothing she can do for him other than to calm him to the best of her abilities, to make him as comfortable as he can be.

"Try to relax, Rumplestiltskin. You are going to be  _fine_. I'm going to make you feel nicely warm, all right?"

Putting distressed patients at ease before they receive proper care by telling them that they are going to recover no matter what is one of the first lessons she was taught when she began working in the infirmary. It has never felt more like lying than when she beholds her suffering fiancé, his face becoming paler even as she watches him.

Still, her words do seem to have some positive impact and there are few things she wouldn't do keep that hint of relief on his face. She shifts until she can carefully pull his head into her lap, caressing his dirty hair with equally soiled fingers.

His coat is almost entirely gone, torn to pieces by the looks of it. She takes off her own and places it over him for warmth, making certain that the ruined material doesn't touch his deepest wounds. The bystanders are offering her a variety of fabrics as well and she blindly accepts them, gratefully covering her fiancé with them to prevent his body from getting too cold.

She takes his right hand in her own, squeezing it encouragingly. She's thoroughly relieved when he wraps his fingers around hers, reacting in kind.

"See, that's much better, isn't it?" she says.

Her hope fades again almost immediately however when he doesn't answer despite the cheerfulness she forces into her voice.

Inwardly begging for a healer to get to them before it's too late as she whispers desperate encouragements to him, there's nothing for Belle to do but wait and hope for the best, her fiancé's grip on her hand becoming looser and looser.


	23. Chapter 23

"Hello, Belle."

The addressed lady looks up, momentarily confused as her eyes burst open. The memories return quickly enough however when she sees the person sleeping on the mattress on which she must have dozed off herself.

No matter how much she wishes that it was her fiancé who spoke to her so clearly and firmly, not to mention from a position other than the thin mattress which he has barely left in the past week, there's no denying the reality.

"Hello, papa."

Belle tears her gaze away from her fiancé's ever so pale, sleeping face to look at their visitor. She doesn't feel better in the slightest when she takes in the expression on the other man's face. They may have defeated the Ogres, they may be  _safe_ for the first time in ages, but her father looks more tired and worried than she has ever seen him.

"How are you doing, my daughter?"

She shrugs, sensing that her father has already an answer to that question simply by looking at her face. It's not that she studies it much, but she catches glimpses of herself often enough to know that she looks as horrid as she feels.

"What about you?" she asks in return.

"There's still some food left for the people, but it's getting colder and less houses and farms have been spared than we had hoped. But it will get better," her father replies, not surprising her at all by describing how their people are doing rather than he himself. "Queen Snow White and King David have pledged their help. It will get better. It will  _have_ to."

Belle nods, but the gratitude she feels is as hollow as anything that doesn't relate to Rumplestiltskin. Finding that she's still holding his seemingly lifeless hand in her own, she starts rubbing it, trying to get some warmth and color back into it.

"How is he?" her father asks, nodding at the the knight.

"There has hardly been any change in his condition," she says, sighing deeply. "He needs to rest a lot, and he does… if the other nurses and I insist. His body is recovering, but his mind…"

She swallows with difficulty, shivering when she thinks of his mental progress - or lack thereof. The healers managed to save his leg, his ankle visibly recovering although he'll probably never be able to use it properly again. She should have known better than to hope that his general health would go uphill from there as well.

Rumplestiltskin is plagued with nightmares more often than not, often waking up screaming and sweating at least several times a night. Unlike before, her presence doesn't soothe him anymore, the horrors in his mind too strong for her to overcome.

Worse yet, he is distant even when he is awake, no matter what he's doing or how she tries to distract him. Not that there is much distracting to achieve in this relatively quiet corner of the infirmary to begin with... there is nothing to do or see at all, but he refuses to leave there no matter how much she insists that some fresh air will do him good.

"You know, Belle…" Her father's voice falters, but his expression gives her a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"What is it?" she asks, sensing that she's not going to like what he wants to tell her  _at all_ , but that there's no escaping it.

"Now that Sir Rumplestiltskin is in such… unfortunate circumstances… the situation has changed."

"What situation?" she asks, rather to buy some time to attempt to brace herself rather than anything else, because she fears that she already knows exactly where her father is going with this.

"Your betrothal."

"I see," Belle whispers, desperately glancing at her motionless, current fiancé.

"Our situation isn't what it was a few days ago. The Ogres are defeated against all our expectations. Reports are coming in; even the outskirts of our  _and_ neighboring lands are entirely clear of them. We have  _won_ , Belle, but our lands are in ruin."

"You want me to marry someone rich in order to ensure the means to rebuild our lands now that Sir Rumplestiltskin has all but given his life to give us the opportunity to rebuild our lands in the first place."

"Being aligned to someone with good connections is also something we have to start thinking about now that…"

"I won't do it," she says numbly, taking her fiancé's hand in hers again. "I'm marrying Rumplestiltskin, exactly like all three of us agreed to."

"Please Belle, try to understand. I appreciate your loyalty to him, I greatly respect it, but there's no point. I've talked to the healers. He'll never be able to fight again… he'll never be able to even  _walk_ properly again. He has no money, he has hardly any connections, he won't be able to protect us against enemies."

_You don't need him anymore. He has given us everything he has, and now you don't need him anymore._

"He doesn't need to be able to walk or yield his sword to strategize. He personally knows King David - they're  _friends._ He's been a spinner, he knows about farming… he can be part of your council as military  _and_ agricultural advisor."

"My child, try to see reason,  _please_. King Midas has two young, healthy sons who…"

"No!" she exclaims, not caring in the slightest that the sound of her voice probably disturbs anyone in the infirmary - except for her heavily injured fiancé, of course. If only she could get  _his_ full attention. "I'm not marrying King Midas's sons, or anyone, other than Sir Rumplestiltskin."

"But Belle, why not? Think of the possibilities. Think of  _yourself_. You've known this man for only a few weeks. What does it  _matter_?"

"If usefulness is all you care about, Rumplestiltskin is the best choice to be my husband. I  _know_ he will be, especially in the long run. But I don't care about usefulness. I care about  _him_."

"But  _why_?"

"Because I want to spend the rest of my life with him!"

_Because I_ love  _him_.

Her father looks at her in disbelief, his confusion turning into realization - sad, pitying realization.

"My darling daughter, in times like these we can't afford to think like that. We can't afford to  _feel_. Love can't feed or shelter you - or your people."

"Who will feed and shelter him if I break off our engagement," she remarks, tears welling in her eyes. "There'll be no more place for him if I do."

"You have a gentle heart, just like your mother, but you can't allow it to get in the way of rationality. At least, not  _yet_. If all goes well… when…  _if_  our lands are prosperous again…"

"You're not seriously suggesting that I marry someone for his wealth only to hope he'll die young so I can marry Rumplestiltskin after all, can you?"

"Well, I…" Her father shakes his head in defeat, sighing deeply. "At least think about it. Think about your future…. the future of all of us. Please, try to see reason."

Her father steps towards her as if to say his goodbyes or embrace her, but Belle won't have any of it. She purposefully turns towards Rumplestiltskin, ignoring the other man when he sighs again and makes his way out of the infirmary.

"Don't listen to him," she murmurs to the unmoving, unhearing figure in the bed, checking the bandages around his feet to make certain that they don't require replacing yet. "I'm not leaving you. I promise."

"Your father is right."

For a moment, she can barely belief that her fiancé has spoken. She was convinced he was asleep but, more than that, he hasn't said anything to her since he lost consciousness in her arms when she found him next to the gate that had crippled him.

"Your father is right," he repeats, his voice hoarse and stiff.

Yet more than the fact that he's speaking at all, Belle is taken aback by what he is saying when the meaning of his actual words fully dawns on her.

"Of course he isn't!" she says firmly, wondering why on earth he would side with her father on this matter. "We're going to get married, simple as that, just like we planned to... just like we  _want_ to."

She looks intently at his face to try to find out why he's saying this, but she finds nothing but a deep frown and closed eyes.

"There's nothing I can give you. I couldn't give you much to begin with, but now that I'm crippled… I'm  _useless_  to anyone, but especially to you."

"Why are you saying that?" she cries out, realizing that he must have heard the greater part of the conversation between her father and herself about their engagement and marriage, if not all of it.

"Do I really need to tell you?" he says roughly, his eyes opening briefly, flashing with what appears to be anger of an intensity that has her stumbling backwards. "There's nothing I can do for either you, your people or your lands.  _Nothing._ Not anymore."

"That isn't true and you must know that. You can advise and strategize, your are our connection to the court of Queen Snow White and King David… you are my future husband whom I can't wait to get married to, no matter what has happened to you and what your body may or may not be able to do."

"You don't know what you're saying," he replies bitterly. "You should free yourself of me, before it's too late."

"What are you talking about?!" she cries out, horrified that he sounds like he doesn't  _want_ to get married to her any longer. "What's wrong?"

"Can't you see?" he snarls, all the gentleness he once ceaselessly used to address her gone. "I refuse to be your burden, your… your  _pet_."

"This isn't you," she replies, trying to remain calm. "This is the pain and the shock of the battle and your injury talking, not you."

"I've rested long enough, but no matter how long you'll keep me here in this bed, it won't change.  _I_ won't change… I won't get better.

"Don't say that," she whispers, terrified by his remarks.

She reaches for his face, hoping that her touch will bring him comfort even if her words don't, but he roughly turns his head away from her.

"Rumplestiltskin, please…"

"There are things you can't change by sheer force of will, Belle. It's time you accept that."

"If you think that I'm going to give up on you because you got badly injured when saving us all, then you've got another thing coming," she mutters, almost angrily.

But rather than saying anything in return, her fiancé turns his back towards her, groaning in pain as he rolls onto his side. Belle rushes to assist him, to ease his discomfort. But before she can do anything to help him, he pointedly pulls his blanket over his head, letting her know in yet another way that he doesn't want her attention and support.


	24. Chapter 24

Belle walks towards the infirmary with heavy steps and a yet heavier heart, dreading what she might find when arriving in the relatively quiet area where her fiancé is still being treated. It's not as if he still truly needs the attention of the nurses and healers; it's more that he doesn't have anywhere else to go.

Of course, she would be more than happy to welcome him back into her own chambers, or rooms in close proximity to them, but Rumplestiltskin refuses to let her to personally look after him like she is so intend on doing.

In fact, he doesn't want to see her  _at all_ , telling her to leave him in peace or simply ignoring her altogether whenever she visits him. He behaves exactly the same when she tries to coax him into talking to her or even look her in the eyes… to find any reminder of the affection and desire they shared until so very recently.

Belle hasn't visited her fiancé for almost a week now, both to respect his apparent wish not to see her and to spare herself the pain of his rejection. She isn't eager to go to him right now either, but the decision who she is going to marry can't be postponed much longer.

She may have her father's reluctant permission to marry the man she was initially promised to after all, but that is just as meaningless as the convoy of food and building materials that the Queen and King sent to them.

After all, her future isn't bright at all when she can't share those essentials with the man she has fallen in love with - the man she barely recognizes ever since he all but gave his life to protect their lands and their future.

The convoy, along with the promise of continued support from the royal couple, enables her to marry her poor, lowborn and crippled fiancé after all… if the drastically changed man still  _wants_ to be her husband, that is.

Mentally bracing herself, Belle subconsciously holds her breath when she steps towards the corner where he has been since he was injured in the defense of their castle. She is hardly surprised to find him lying on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, but that by no means makes it any easier to find the previously so alert and lively knight once more like this.

"Rumplestiltskin?" she inquires when she reaches his bed and tries not to let her shock about the paleness of his face and sheer emptiness of his expression show on her face.

It isn't beyond expectation either that he doesn't react to her voice, either pretending not to hear it or not noticing it at all, but that too doesn't take away any of the difficulty of it.

"Rumplestiltskin?" she tries again, more firmly this time.

Again, he doesn't react. Sighing deeply despite herself, Belle pulls up a wooden stool and settles herself on the side of his bed.

"I'm not giving up on you, you know," she says, pulling the sheets covering him aside a little so she can take his hand in hers.

His hand is cold and far thinner than she remembered, basically as lifeless as the rest of him. He doesn't even blink when she begins to rub it lightly, doing her best to return some warmth to it.

"How are you feeling?" she asks against her better judgment, if only to let herself believe for the briefest of moment that he's going to answer her immediately and truthfully, exactly like he would have done before all of this. "Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you, anything at all?"

She takes advantage of the long silence that follows her question by scrutinizing him, to take in each and every change which his injury has caused. His lower leg itself is healing as well as it possibly can - or at least, that's what the healers tell her. The knight himself won't let her look at his shattered ankle, his entire posture tensing when she does as much as glance at his leg where it lies covered by blankets.

His cuts and bruises have almost entirely healed as well, but the deep lines on his face and the dark half circles under his eyes go beyond the pain he must still be in. Even his hair seems grayer than it was a few weeks ago.

Rumplestiltskin appears to be hardly  _breathing_ when she looks at him, despite there not being a physical reason that might prevent him from doing so. She doesn't bother asking him whether he has been doing the exercises that the healers have suggested to strengthen his slowly but surely healing ankle.

"You can't stay here in the infirmary forever," she eventually says, her tone purposefully brusque. "But my father is reluctant to give you my hand in marriage."

Belle doesn't dare wonder whether the implication that her fiancé has nowhere else to go might ruse him from the state in which he appears to be entirely stuck, but his complete lack of a reaction of any kind informs her that this is definitely not the case.

Blinking back her tears, she leans over him to put her face in his line of vision, his gaze going straight through her.

"Do you still  _want_ to marry me, Rumplestiltskin?" she whispers, for the first time forcing herself to consider the possibility that the man she loves is no longer there.

He doesn't reply once more but at least he blinks after all, his eyes coming back into focus to take in her face.

"We can still get married if we want to," she adds, a hint of hope blossoming within her after all. "My father isn't happy about it, but he'll accept our decision to spend the rest of our lives together if we…"

"It seems only appropriate that my life ends the way it began," comes the gruff, by now almost unexpected sound of his voice, his hoarse tone startling her almost as much as his words themselves, "far away from protection and comfort and…"

_Love_ , she finds herself thinking, even though he turns his head to look away from her, the first movement he has made since she arrived at his bedside.

"You can't possibly mean that," she replies, tightening her hold on his hand and refusing to interpret his response as a refusal of the marriage she proposed. "I'd be more than happy to marry you, just like we agreed to before...  _before_."

Once again, Rumplestiltskin doesn't reply to her, but the way he yanks his hand away from hers with surprising strength tells her everything that his voice doesn't.

"Our marriage will be a beneficial arrangement for both of us," she says, stubbornly squaring her shoulders. "Our union ensures that both you and I will be comfortable for the rest of our lives. If you marry me, you can rely on the title and income of me and my father. No matter what you might or might not be able to do physically once your body has recovered as much it can, I'll personally guarantee that you'll never lack for comfort and any care you might need."

It makes her feel nauseous to talk to him like this, to repeat the arguments that have always been used to persuade  _her_ of the importance of achieving a good marriage, but it's better than the alternative. No matter how much it hurts to do as much as think about it, Belle strongly feels that her fiancé  _will_ give up on both their relationship and his very own life if he were left to his own devices, which will happen sooner or later without an oath of marriage binding them together.

"And what do  _you_ get out of this little deal?" he asks harshly. "You can't truly believe that you can magically cure me of what my own foolishness has brought me. Do you want to be a martyr, to trap yourself for the rest of your life with the man who gave himself for your  _title and income_ in a ridiculous attempt to somehow repay me?"

"My reasons are my own," she manages to bring out, no longer able to hold her tears back now that he refers like this to his heroic actions and her own motivations for not giving up on their engagement and their feelings for one another.

"Fine," he all but snarls, that expression making him seem yet more unlike the knight she has grown to know and love. "I'll marry you, if I must."

"Then it has been decided," she says, not knowing to be mainly relieved by the outcome or saddened by the way they got there... or to be afraid of the man he might be becoming. "We will be married."

"Just know that you won't have children in our  _marriage_ … or at least, not mine. I shall be your husband only in name."

Belle winces at his bitter conviction that he doesn't want to be her husband in the sense both of them were looking forward to so much until so very recently. She briefly wonders whether he still  _can_ if he wanted to in the first place, whether there might come a time that he reacts to her and her nearness like he did only a short while ago.

"You shall not have my sympathy or my affections," he mutters without looking at her, as if determined to dissuade her after all of the marriage he just consented to.

For a long time having a distant, indifferent husband was the best Belle could hope for with regards to her marriage… but that very prospect seems positively cruel compared to what she and the knight used to share, no matter how briefly.

"If that's what you wish…" she replies, her eyes pleading with him even if her words don't.

When the silence between them lengthens once more, she asks herself whether she's doing the right thing for both of them. As he still refuses to meet her gaze, she simply can't tell whether it's selfish that she wants to entwine her life with his even now rather than seeking to marry another man, knowing that he'll in all likelihood never remotely make her feel like Rumplestiltskin once did so profoundly.

Belle is convinced at least that  _this_ knight won't treat her with cruelty and disdain even now that the horrors of war have twisted him like this. More than that, she doesn't want to give up on their relationship, doesn't want to stop fighting for what they once had and might have once more.

Still, their union is to become a marriage of convenience, a whole different kind of convenience she might have imagined before his luck on the battlefield finally ran out.

"We shall marry," she says again when he still doesn't express anything either in favor or against that proposal.

Rumplestiltskin bows his head further but once again doesn't say anything in return, fueling her belief – or perhaps, rather her hope - that he's simply too tired, too uncaring, to resist her on this rather than still actually wanting to be her husband after all, like a remnant of the man he once was.

"I shall discuss with my father and his counselors what might be an appropriate time for our wedding," she says stiffly, wiping in vain at the salty liquid on her cheeks. "I'll… I'll inform you of their decision as soon as they have come to a conclusion."

Once those quivering words are said, there's nothing left for Belle to do but leave her fiancé to his ever continuing silent, dark mood.


	25. Chapter 25

It's the day that she has been either dreading and eagerly looking forward to throughout the greater part of her life. But now that her wedding day has finally arrived, Belle couldn't be more conflicted about the highly important ceremony that will be carried out today… about the man who will be her husband until death will part them after all.

It's been almost one moon since Rumpelstiltskin consented to their marriage. She has barely seen him since, as he continued to stay in his far corner in the infirmary, letting her her know via a healer that he didn't wish to see her or speak to her.

As much as she tells herself that his moods and attitude might be changed for the better, if only a little, when they will finally meet again in front of the altar, Belle knows better than to expect any such development, no matter how painful it is to accept.

But at least he hasn't broken off their engagement after all. Then again, she doesn't have a clue whether it's a good sign or not that the knight also didn't want to meet King David, his one and only friend other than herself. The king traveled a long way to support their lands and meet with his old friend, but the knight refused to meet the most powerful man in the realm.

"It's time," her father announces from her side, looking at her with the same worry that has been in his eyes almost each and every time he looks at her for as long as she can remember.

Belle nods, squaring her shoulders while she takes her father's arm. The musicians start to play right when she glances down herself, finding no joy whatsoever in the beautiful white fabric that she's wearing, the dress the very same that her mother wore on her own wedding day.

"Well, there's no way back now," her father says quietly to her when they make their way down the aisle.

"I know," she replies, just as softly, not certain whether she's relieved by this or not.

The sight of the King standing only a short distance away from Rumplestiltskin doesn't distract her in the slightest from the man whom she's going to marry. He doesn't even glance at her when she comes to stand at his side and her father lets go off her arm with tears in his eyes.

The music stops and the priest begins the ceremony that will tie the life of her and the man she loves together for as long as they will live. Even as she echoes the required words, she never takes her eyes off Rumplestiltskin, her heart aching when he dully repeats them as well, sounding as if he does so without meaning any of them, without even truly  _hearing_ them.

He retrieves the ring which she handed over to the King that very morning on the monarch's request. It's hardly traditional, but in this time of great scarcity Belle also greatly appreciates the notion of wearing something that holds personal meaning to him.

Indeed, the engagement ring he gave her holds personal meaning to  _them -_ even if 'them' includes only her at the moment. She can only hope that they will at some point once more know the happiness they shared when he slid his late mother's ring around her finger during their engagement ball.

Then again, when she gave the ring to King David for safekeeping this morning she wasn't even certain whether her fiancé would return it to her at this moment at all. At least they have achieved  _that_.

The King had given her a ring in return that morning, the very one that she puts around her fiancé's too thin finger at that very moment. She's glad that she's got a ring for him at all, even though she's quite certain that he didn't want to have anything to do with selecting it, but that too is a joyless victory.

Rumplestiltskin's hands are cold when he slides the ring around her finger, but she takes comfort in the discovery that the gold is warm from where it previously sat in his pocket, as close to him as she herself longs to be once more, especially now that they are finally officially joined as husband and wife.

"Now you may kiss the bride," the priest announces.

Oblivious that each pair of eyes in the hall is yet more intent on them than before, Belle only has attention for the man at her side, turning to face him rather than the priest now that the ending of the ceremony has arrived.

As at any point in the past few weeks, she knows better than to expect anything at all from this particularly important moment,  _knows_ that there probably won't be any sign in him of the man he used to be even when they are about to seal their marriage.

In fact, she's afraid at first that Rumplestiltskin hasn't heard the priest - or, yet worse, that he did hear the announcement of their first kiss as husband and wife, but simply refuses to participate in this particular act, even when the legitimacy of their union depends on it more than ever.

Still, after a few endless seconds in which he does nothing but stare right through the priest with unseeing eyes, the man who is now finally her husband jerks into motion, turning towards her as well. Her heart beats wildly with quickly rising excitement when he lifts her veil and reaches for her face with an only slightly trembling hand, her entire being filling with all the hope she was so determined not to feel.

Maybe the fact that her hopes regarding him have been crushed so harshly more than once already is the reason that she doesn't reel in utter disappointment when he only brushes his chilly hand against her face to hide that he doesn't actually touch her when he leans in for their kiss, lingering half an inch or so from where he would otherwise have pressed his lips to hers.

Rumpelstiltskin withdraws after barely a moment, not meeting her gaze when the guests begin to applause loudly. To her ears, it feels more like a mockery salute rather than a congratulatory one, although the people of course don't mean their reaction like that. Still, it's almost difficult not to resent them for not seeing what's happening under their very noses - for none of them to know that both her husband and she are hurting so much, his misery as clear to her as her own.

The priest retreats and soon the guests surround them like a tidal wave coming from all directions to personally share their good wishes. Feeling utterly overwhelmed, Belle follows the knight with an apologetic smile that hurts her face as he moves away from the gathering.

Her husband hardly walks fast at all; in fact, he can barely  _walk_ at all, stumbling on his still not entirely healed ankle - the ankle that in all likelihood will never heal properly, will never allow the knight to move like he once did. Everyone knows that, everyone  _accepts_ that, except for Rumplestiltskin himself, who still refuses to rely on a walking stick to get around, as if acknowledging his reduced ability will make it more real and less inevitable than it already is.

She hopes that all their guests will merely think that the two of them can't wait to be alone for a while now that they finally have said their vows, but even that illusion is one that her husband unknowingly won't grant her. When she reaches for him with softly spoken words and tentative fingertips, he roughly shakes her hand off his arm.

Stomping out of the great hall as quickly as he can, he leaves Belle in the crowded space all alone and with tears in her eyes. Overwhelmed by the sadness of the discovery that he even now won't let her touch him or support him  _at all_ , she can't stand to be surrounded by all the well-meaning but unintentionally hurtful wedding guests any longer.

No longer caring what it might look like or what it might lead people to think about her and her marriage, she flees out of the great hall before tears are streaming down her face. The fresh air of the gardens hardly offers any solace however and she practically collapses on the path leading to the lake where Rumplestiltskin and she spent so much wonderful time - which might as well seem an eternity ago at this point.

Pulling off her veil and having forgotten about the pristine white dress she's wearing, Belle stares up at the stars above, before her gaze returns to the ring she's now wearing - the beautiful ring that Rumplestiltskin  _did_ get for her, despite everything. The bit of gold around her finger manages to mean both everything and nothing whatsoever at the same time.

"My lady?"

Belle looks up abruptly, not aware of the figure who has approached her until he is right in front of her. For one brief, foolish moment she hopes that Rumplestiltskin has come after her to join her after all, but the shape between her and the bright moon is too tall and too broad to be her husband's.

"Your majesty!" she cries out when she recognizes that it's none other than the King himself who stumbled upon her in her state of distress.

She scrambles to her feet in her far from practical wedding dress and manages a clumsy curtsy, all but falling back to the ground in her shock.

"My lady, if I may…"

She nods dumbly when he gestures at the ground next to her, watching in bewilderment when King David settles himself on the ground next to her as if there's nothing strange whatsoever for him to sit down next to someone like her for no apparent reason, let alone to do so in a moonlit garden on the unkempt ground.

"My lady, feel very free to ignore this question if it is too personal and insensitive, but… it seems to me that the wedding of you and Rumplestiltskin wasn't a happy affair."

"You're right, your majesty, it wasn't," she sighs miserably, not wanting to lie to King David even if she wanted to now that he's looking at her with sympathy from the corners of his eyes.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, both for your sake and that of Rumplestiltskin."

"Today isn't what I hoped it would be," she says, recalling that King David and her husband have known each other for a long time, that they are friends even… that the king might be able to give her some insight into his condition, perhaps give her advice on how to interact with him.

"My lady, if it's any comfort to you… I've known Rumplestiltskin since I was a young man. I like to think I know him very well, but I must say that I barely recognized him during the few times I met him in the months before he was injured. Despite the war, he was more talkative and hopeful than I knew him to be, almost… cheerful."

"Because he had fallen in love with me," she muses quietly.

"We didn't get to talk much the last few times we met, but he spoke often and very highly of you. It was clear that you mean the world to him. This is only speculation on my part, but… if it weren't for you, I think Rumplestiltskin wouldn't have recovered from his injuries and from the horrors of war as relatively well as he did. I don't think that he would have left the battlefield alive at all."

Belle lets the king's words sink in, wondering if it could be true that her husband might not even be alive if it weren't for her.

"All I've ever wanted for Rumplestiltskin is for him to be happy," the king continues. "When your father wrote to me that he was looking for a suitor for you... the way he wrote about your loveliness and stubbornness... I had never met you, but I felt that you and he could be happy together. I don't think he truly believed it as well, not at first at least, but..."

Belle smiles a little, grateful for the man she already suspected brought her husband and she together. In better days, the knight and she had come to the same tentative conclusion. If the days would still have been good, they would have marveled at this confirmation together.

"Before I forget, my lady, let me congratulate your on your prowess on the battlefield," he says, offering her a small, encouraging smile. "I have heard incredible things about you, not nearly all of them coming from your husband."

"Thank you, your majesty," she replies, but the words aren't nearly as enthusiastic as she had thought before her husband's injury.

In a lot of ways, she has achieved everything she has she ever wanted: her father's lands and people are freed from the Ogres, she has become a  _hero_ … and all of it means yet less to her with every increase of distance between Rumplestiltskin and herself.

"I'm not saying you should give him more time or be more patient with him, not at all," the king says, his expression becoming solemn once more. "It seems to me that you're taking this as well as anyone could. If something like this were to happen to Snow…"

Despite herself, Belle feels a jolt of intense envy for the king and the queen, who get to love each other without such suffering. The sentiment is gone however when the king looks back at her with nothing but compassion in his eyes.

"Please don't give up, Belle. I know that your husband is in a lot of pain, that he's hurt and confused. That he's probably hurting and confusing  _you_ with his rejection _._  I don't dare predict if he'll recover, if only a little, but… please don't stop  _hoping_. If Snow and learned one thing, it's that anything is possible if only you are willing to fight for it."

He nods at her in encouragement, then moves to stand up again.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll go back to the feast."

"Of course," Belle replies, quickly following his example.

"Will you join me, my lady? I'd be more than happy to escort you back to the castle."

"No thank you," she says, smiling a little with sincere gratitude while she wonders whether the king perhaps thought her husband his perfect manners and chivalry, or the other way around. "I'll enjoy the fresh air for a moment longer."

"Of course, my lady," he says, inclining his head in acknowledgment. "I'll see you later then, perhaps."

"Perhaps, your majesty," she says quietly, bowing in return.

She stares at the king as he disappears along the moonlit path, for a moment wishing that it was  _her_ going back to her loving,  _healthy_ spouse. Knowing only too well that she won't - that she might as well never will - Belle sinks back to the ground, staring at the sky above with teary, unfocused eyes.


	26. Chapter 26

The way her dread for her wedding night turned into sheer eager anticipation should perhaps have taught Belle that even the expectations that seem to be set in stone can change, and quickly so. And yet, probably nothing could have prepared her for the way the man she married that afternoon dully follows her to the room where she will in all likelihood spend anything but the best night of her life.

Their progress towards her bedroom is slow and irregular. She would have offered him to lean on her if only he hadn't none too kindly rebuffed all such offers in the past. As it is, she tries to match the speech of the man limping behind her without making it seem obvious that she's doing so, his harsh, shallow breathing and his heavy footsteps the only sounds breaking the unpleasant silence.

When they at last reach the door of her bedroom, she opens it slowly, afraid for what might happen once they get inside in a way she had never predicted. Nothing has changed in the room where she both spent such wonderful time with him and prepared for her wedding this morning - but at the same time,  _everything_ has changed.

Rumplestiltskin follows her into the room without saying a word, unceremoniously collapsing on the bed with an only partially concealed groan of pain. He closes his eyes immediately, but she doesn't need to see that still particularly expressive part of him to know that he won't be able to sleep for a considerable time - and that he knows that as well as she does herself.

She has thought of something which will help him relax, which will allow them to share at least  _something_ tonight. But she's going to need his approval and she's quite certain that she won't get it at this point.

Not knowing what else to do for now, Belle studies the prone form of the man who is now her husband. At least this is a chance to take a first, proper look at him, now that her consciousness isn't entirely overwhelmed by emotions and impressions any longer in this first relatively calm moment since their wedding.

At first glance, Sir Rumplestiltskin might look spectacular. He may have been particularly well-dressed during their engagement ball, but that's nothing compared to the clothing he's wearing now. The King probably had a hand in this, for she doesn't know where else he may have gotten these kind of clothes.

The harness he's wearing captures most of her attention. It's made of shiny metal with a golden sheen, its convex shape entirely hiding the fact the that his torso has become far too thin. Over the harness he's wearing a thick, fur-trimmed coat which might be warm, but far too heavy and impractical in just about any situation. His boots are brand new and well-polished, and much larger than they should be - if his not entirely healed ankle would fit in regular boots, that is.

All in all, Rumplestiltskin looks in a lot of ways completely unlike the man she has been getting to know so intimately.

His face is too pale and she's quite certain that his for once combed hair has become yet grayer and thinner since she last saw him. The dark marks underneath his eyes have become yet more announced, his for once cleanly-shaven cheeks revealing that his face has become thinner as well and that the lines around his mouth have become yet deeper.

He clearly needs yet more rest and peace, and lots of it. It won't be enough, she knows that only too well, but she still has no idea whatsoever what else he might need to recover - if that's still possible at all - and how she might contribute to that.

"We're going to stay in my old bedroom for at least a few months," she announces, quite certain that he isn't even listening to her but unable to bear the heavy silence any longer. "We were meant to get our own room, a new and bigger one, now that we are married. But with the castle being as heavily damaged as it is, we're lucky to have a room in the first place."

It's no surprise to her that he gives no indication whatsoever that he has heard what she just said, let alone understood it. Still, she figures that she can help him get a little more comfortable at least. If sleeping quietly next to one another is all they will do tonight… well, it isn't exactly what she has dreamed of, but it would be a rather good way to spend their wedding night regardless, considering the circumstances.

"I'll help you get out of your harness and boots," she gently announces.

It's hardly a surprise either that he once more reacts to her words in no way at all, but she likes to think that there's a part of him that appreciates that she, in a way, warns him for her nearness.

Still, when she pointedly sits down next to him and reaches for the fastenings of his harness, his eyes fly open and he slaps her hands away with a swiftness and strength she no longer expected of him.

"Don't touch me," he says sharply, withdrawing his hand as soon as hers aren't near him any longer.

"I'm only trying to help you get more…"

"I don't need your help," he snarls, his tone hurting her yet more than his words and actions do.

"All right," she says tensely, "I see that you don't want my help now, but if you change your mind…"

"I won't," he grinds out.

Rumplestiltskin sits up with obvious difficulty, yanking a few times in vain at the cord that keeps his cloak in place before he manages to free himself from it, letting the fabric fall to the bed behind him.

His efforts to get out of his harness are yet more troubled, but no matter how much it hurts her to see him struggle like this, Belle knows better by now than to try to offer her help. She holds on to the hope that he will feel slightly better once he has freed himself from the heavy layers he is wearing despite his weakened state… that he will be more receptive of the support she would be very happy to provide.

Rumplestiltskin refuses to meet her gaze when he removes his clothes until he is in his undershirt and breeches, the latter covering the injury that's the root of their trouble. She makes certain not to look at him, not to wonder what could have been. If he is self-conscious, he doesn't show it, but she busies herself on the other side of the room with her back towards him regardless.

She had little time to prepare for this, but she  _has_ prepared and stored a bottle with healing oil specifically for this purpose. Once upon a time, on the day that they were formally introduced to one another, he mentioned the soothingness of the scent of it. She hopes with all her heart that he still feels the same way now that they're officially married… now that he, in some ways, couldn't differ more from the man she met not all that long ago.

Belle had hoped to offer this to him when he is in a more receptive mood, but it's increasingly clear to her that that isn't going to happen either tonight or at any point in the near future unless she finds a way to make him so.

If this is the only way that she can get her hands on her husband during her wedding night, if this is the only way that she can help him at all, so be it.

"I've got something for you," she says carefully when she approaches him, taking the lid off the pot to show him the contents while hoping that the scent of it will have an immediate effect on him, no matter how small. "I think that it will make you feel better."

Looking at him closely, Belle finds that her husband indeed reacts… although it's hardly unexpected yet heartbreaking at the same time that he flinches away from the scent that he once breathed in eagerly.

"This is healing oil," she explains as calmly and as persuasively as she can. "You liked it, one day not very long ago. You might like it now. I can promise you that it will make you feel better."

"I don't want it," he mutters darkly, turning his head away as if the mere sight and smell of it offends his senses.

"You told me yourself that you liked the scent of it, that it soothed you. Don't you remember at all?" she asks, trying in vain to keep her voice from breaking. "I don't try to… I'm not asking you to let me massage the oil into your ankle or anywhere near the scars. It's just… even getting a little of it on your arms or back will make you feel better, I promise."

"I said  _no_."

"I know you do. I  _hear_ you. But… Please, Rumplestiltskin. I truly think that this will help you relax. It helps against the pain, too.  _Please_."

Rather than answering her, he hauls himself onto his side to turn his back towards her, bad leg and all, and demonstratively pulls the thin blanket over himself. It painfully reminds her of an identical action of his, shortly after he was so gravely injured… as if there hasn't changed anything at all in that time, as if there has been no improvement in him - between  _them_ \- whatsoever.

No matter how difficult it is, it finally dawns on Bell that, if she's perfectly honest with herself, there  _has_ been no progress at all, either in him personally or in their relationship.

Indeed, the man she married today is not the man she has gotten to know before he was injured, the man she  _loves_. Al that she can do on this night, the wedding night that she  _dreamed_ of, is going to sleep with the hope that he will endure her presence next to him in bed.

Belle manages to keep the tears at bay, if only barely, when she starts to undress herself to change into her nightgown. How she has longed for this moment, when Rumplestiltskin would finally be hers and she his, when there would be no more reason to hold back in their desire and passion for one another.

Now they finally,  _finally_ get to make love, but he couldn't be less interested in that… couldn't be less interested in  _her_. There even is no point in requesting him to help her get out of the wedding dress that a servant helped her get into this morning; he has made horribly clear already that he wants to have nothing to do with her any more, either to simply assist her or to... well.

When she eventually manages to undo the laces on the back of her wedding dress herself and sends the white fabric sliding down her body to end up pooling around her feet, Belle isn't capable of even  _imagining_ that the man she loves is watching her intently with dark, eager eyes.

In fact, Rumplestiltskin doesn't even  _look_ at her, making a point of turning his back yet further towards her instead now that she's changing into her nightclothes, as if the mere notion of seeing her undress and beholding her unclothed body repulses him.

His behavior chilling her infinitely more than the cold air in the room does, she quickly pulls her nightgown over her head when she picks it up from the edge of the bed, exactly where she left it that morning.

Her husband has left one half of the bed empty in a seemingly purposeful manner. Once more not knowing what else to do, Belle gingerly gets onto the still empty half, purposefully not looking at the barely moving shape on the other side as she does so.

Instinctively, she leaves as much space between them as humanly possible on the narrow bed, only for her heart to break a little more when he shifts yet further away from her regardless. His actions makes any notion of wishing him a good night die a rapid, merciless death.

Unable to look at him as well for the time being, Belle settles on what has already become her side on the very edge of the bed, her backs towards him as well. She closes her eyes firmly to shut out the bright, unforgiving moonlight which streams into the room. It does nothing to prevent tears of sorrow and despair rather than ecstasy from dripping hotly and quietly onto her thin pillow.


	27. Chapter 27

Any tentative optimism that Belle felt when she headed towards her bedroom is forgotten as soon as she enters it and finds her husband lying motionlessly on his half of the bed. He's staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, exactly as he has done just about each and every single day since they got married.

Usually, any hope that the slow but unmistakable rebuilding of the castle and its lands evokes within her is immediately gone when she finds Rumplestiltskin once more like this. On good days, he has at least made an appearance in the great hall or walked some distance through the hallways of the castle. On bad days, he doesn't get out of bed at all. Either way, he doesn't talk to her or allows for any physical contact between them.

On any other evening, Belle would wordlessly change into her nightgown, her husband making certain not to see her undress until this very day, and take her place on the other edge of the bed in equal silence.

But today, the first crops have been harvested  _and_ there have been reports that the area which is now entirely free of Ogres is yet larger than was thought before. Today, Belle no longer accepts that there's nothing at all that she can do to help her husband, to get him out of the mental state he has been in since he all but gave his life to ensure the peace that all of them have been living in ever since.

So rather than pursuing the oblivion of sleep as quickly as possible, she lights several candles to add to the light of the half moon which reaches their bedroom. Not liking the chilliness which lingers in the room despite spring's arrival, she starts a fire in the rarely used hearth in her quarters as well.

After a few minutes, it's considerably lighter and warmer than it has been in the room for a long time. Glancing back at the barely moving form of her husband, Belle is both shocked and delighted to find him looking at her, only for him to lower his gaze as soon as he becomes aware of her attention.

Still, by now she truly knows better than to  _hope_ when she slowly but determinedly approaches him, no longer intent on finding any sign that he hasn't actually been as distant as he has made her believe this whole time. On her way to the bed, to  _him_ , she retrieves the pot of oil that has been standing in a corner of the room since their wedding night, waiting for a moment to be used to soothe Rumplestiltskin after all.

It's a good thing that the precious oil doesn't go bad. If only the same went for the relationship with her husband - their  _marriage_.

"I got some more light and warmth in here," she announces when she sits down on his side of the bed, neither disappointed nor surprised that he doesn't acknowledge her presence now that she so explicitly offers it. "I think that it'll do both of us good. It will be spring soon and I can't wait for the sunlight to be strong enough to give warmth and bright proper light. It can't be much longer now. The days are getting longer and everything starts to grow again. I've seen blossoming flowers today… they were so beautiful. We could take a look at them together tomorrow, if you'd like."

It's also neither unexpected nor hurtful to her that the knight doesn't respond to the invitation. Instead, she continues saying the words which are falling from her mouth almost on their own accord, for once undeterred by his silence.

"The first kale has been harvested this afternoon. It'll take quite a while longer for the carrots, turnips and corn to be ready, but thanks to the convoys that the Queen and King keep sending to us, we will be able to feed everyone until then."

She reaches for his hand where it lies limply on the mattress as he continues to stare at the ceiling. Rumplestiltskin tries to withdraw it, just like she thought he would, but this time she won't let him. She grasps his hand firmly between her own, holding onto it when she continues to talk.

"It's been three months, Rumplestiltskin.  _Three months_ since we married," she says, the frustration and perhaps even anger she expected when finally having this hopefully not entirely one-sided conversation with him mainly buried underneath a thick, thick layer of sadness. "I'm  _bleeding_ again. Not regularly, not yet, but… we're supposed to be happy. We're supposed to be  _together_. To have a family."

She caresses his hand with her fingertips, both the back and the front, content that he at least doesn't try to pull it away from her again. He closes his eyes, which might or might not be an improvement of sorts over the way he usually doesn't look at her at all even when his eyes are open.

"I've had it, Rumplestiltskin. I've had  _enough_  of this misery," she sighs, reaching or his face, "and I think you have as well. I thought… I  _hoped_ … but you aren't getting better on your own accord, without any support. Just… at least let me try to help you.  _Please_."

He tenses when she brushes her fingers along his cheek - of course he does. But he relaxes ever so slowly when she keeps her hands still for the time being and remains so when she eventually begins to caress him in earnest, tender and tentative fingertips brushing from his brow along his cheek all the way to his chin over and over again.

Her heart surges when he leans into her touch, his movements small but undeniable - especially when his eyes flutter open, directly meeting hers at last.

"Rumplestiltskin…"

It doesn't matter that he doesn't reply to her, that he flinches briefly before relaxing again when she reaches for him with her other hand as well.

"I have accepted what has happened to you, that you might not be the man anymore who you once were. But that doesn't mean… that doesn't mean I can't love you anymore. It doesn't mean that I  _don't_ love you anymore. The truth is… I don't  _know_ , Rumplestiltskin. I just don't know. You won't let me see or know you, not anymore. That's what I ask of you, to give both of us the chance to find out who you have become."

He still doesn't say anything or move any further, but that doesn't surprise her either. If anything, at this point it encourages her that he doesn't object at all to their nearness, sharing a level of intimacy she could no longer have dreamed of until a few minutes ago.

"Let me put some oil on your skin," she whispers, hope blossoming within her once more despite herself. "It doesn't have to be on your leg; rubbing it onto any part of your body will make you feel better."

His nod is almost invisible, but she catches it regardless because she is looking at him intently, all of her attention focused on him for the first time since longer than she wants to be reminded of.

"My back has been hurting for the past few days," he says very, very quietly. "Maybe you can..."

"All right," she breathes, finding that she doesn't immediately quite know how to proceed now that he has accepted her offer against her expectations and has even gone as far as to encourage her for all intends and purposes.

The first step for them to take becomes clear to her however when she takes in the nightshirt he's wearing - the very one he probably didn't take off today, and the days before that. It covers him from his wrists all the way up to right beneath his throat, making it impossible for her to reach any part of his back without getting the fabric at least partially out of the way.

Seeing him glance at her from beneath his lashes, not lowering his gaze when she meets it to hide the unmistakably hopeful look in his eyes, gives her the faith to aim for more than getting him to bare a single or perhaps two arms.

"Let me take off your shirt?" she requests softly, barely able to believe it when he nods again, the gesture just as small as last time.

Any potential hesitation on his agreement evaporates however when he shoves the blanket that's covering him aside and gets himself into a sitting position with a difficulty which makes her heart ache.

Belle settles herself behind him to help him to get up far enough to pull his nightshirt slowly but surely over his head, pointedly placing it right next to him as soon as she has removed it. She hopes it will make clear to him that they're doing all of this on his terms, that he can make an end to her attempt to finally improve his physical and emotional situation whenever he wants.

She's only more convinced that he needs such reassurances when the man who once was opposed to taking off too much clothing in each other's company for the sole reason of preventing them from getting carried away entirely by their desire for one another, awkwardly covers his chest with his arms right after she has exposed it.

"Why don't you lie down on your stomach?" she suggests, suspecting that he would prefer her not to see his chest at all.

Rumplestiltskin nods in response, but he tenses considerably once more when she places her hands tentatively on his upper arm to support his movement back into a lying position, this time on his stomach. She withdraws her hands immediately when he had turned around.

Hoping that her husband will relax again soon, Belle fluffs the thin pillow to make it as comfortable as it can possibly be. Without touching him, she helps him to get it underneath his head and folded arms, then assists him adjust his bad leg to a more agreeable angle.

He looks up at her when she sits down at his side again, slightly further away from the edge than the previous time she did so, his gaze questioning but more relaxed and trusting than she has seen it for almost longer than she could stand. To her delight, it remains like that when she slowly and carefully, very carefully, brushes the tips of her fingers over his back, maintaining eye contact while she does so.

His breathing is shallow and rapid and she makes a point of inhaling deeply and slowly herself. He mimics that rhythm soon enough, further easing the burden that has been weighing so very heavily on her heart.

"That's better, isn't?" she says quietly, smiling a little at him when he nods in response. "Let's try to get you used to being touched by me again before using the oil?"

When he nods again, somewhat more firmly than before, Belle finally allows her gaze to drift to his back. It's an awfully pale shade, like the rest of him, and there are yet more scars there than the last time she saw it.

No matter how much she longs to firmly rub the healing oil into his battered and cold skin, as if she is capable of taking away his pain and fears with mere force of will, Belle doesn't forget for a moment to be as careful as she can be, lest she accidentally startles the shadow of the man her husband once was.

When she looks back at him, there's fortunately still no sign of distrust or discomfort in his eyes. The next time she takes her eyes away from his, she does so for a longer moment, all her attention on placing the inside of her hand on his back as carefully and lightly as she can.

To her delight, Rumpelstiltskin doesn't flinch or tense at the contact this time. It encourages her to increase the pressure of her fingers on his back a little more every minute or so. Eventually, she caresses his back exactly the way she had in mind, her strokes slow but wide and firm. It's probably just her imagination, but it seems to her that his skin is warming a little beneath her hands, even gaining a little more color.

It's definitely not mere wishful thinking that his eyes becoming more focused and present with each moment that passes, his face too regaining some much needed color. His breathing is no longer in sync with hers, but although it has sped up a little, he becomes only more responsive to her.

"How about you remain lying just like this and I get the oil on your back?" she suggests softly.

"I'd like that," he replies, surprising her by speaking out loud rather than only nodding to signal his approval.

"Let's do it right now?" she asks with a hint of the giddy eagerness that once characterized their relationship and now not only returns to her, but to him as well by the looks of it.

"I'd like that too," he says, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in something quite closely resembling a small, sincere smile.


	28. Chapter 28

Belle's hands are shaking with excitement and trepidation alike when she reaches for the oil she has been longing to apply to her husband's skin for months now. No matter how glad she is that he is allowing her to do so at all, that he finally accepts her touch and attention again, she's very much aware that this might as well be her one and only chance to help Rumpelstiltskin.

After all, despite the hope he just once more evoked within her, she's very much aware that she still barely knows the man he has become, doesn't know to what extent - if at all - he is still the man she fell in love with only so shortly ago. It has taken them a considerable time to get to this point and she has no idea whether there'll come another moment like this if the treatment she has in mind won't achieve success now that he is actually giving her this opportunity.

Still, Rumplestiltskin looks at her with unusually calm and expecting eyes. That gives her all the courage she needs to put down the pot of oil on the floor next to their bed and take a generous amount of the wonderful smelling thick liquid between her hands.

"Try to relax again, like you did a moment ago," she murmurs when she regards the ever tense muscles of his back now that they are finally revealed to her. "The oil will be a bit cold, just so you know."

She warms it between her hands for a while, but before she can decide whether the oil has lost enough of its usual chilliness, the temptation to touch her husband again becomes too much.

Making herself comfortable at his side, her drawn up knees pressing lightly against him, Belle lets the oil drop all over his back. The scent of lavender further spreading to the room, she happily but ever so tentatively presses her slippery hands to his back.

For a while, she just lets her hands rest next to one another in the middle of his back, her fingers spread to touch as much of him as she possibly can this way. Before his injury, she wouldn't have been able to hold still for even a few heartbeats, being as eager to touch her knight as she was back then. She still is, in a way yet more than she used to be, but for now it's a victory in its own right to be able to touch him again at all.

When she does begin to rub the oil into his skin, Belle does so slowly and purposefully, keeping her eyes on his face to make certain that there isn't a single sign of discomfort there. Although she doesn't look at them any longer, the countless hard patches on his skin are unmistakable, permanent reminders of the pain he has suffered and the sacrifices he has made to keep other people safe.

At least it doesn't appear to cause any discomfort when she carefully touches the scar tissue. She knows that the oil will make his skin feel better quite soon, but it would be almost cruel to cause him yet more pain before that.

"It smells nice, doesn't it?" she offers encouragingly.

The way he inhales deeply and visibly relaxes a little in response is reassuring to say the least.

"It feels nice, too," he says quietly, shifting a little underneath her hands.

Rather than doing something to decrease the contact between them, Rumplestiltskin makes himself more comfortable, never taking his eyes away from her as he does so.

Sensing that he's as at ease as he's going to be, Belle begins to apply more pressure to his back, deft and slippery fingertips seeking out his taut and stiff muscles.

"Please tell me if it feels remotely uncomfortable," she tells him, before she's more lost than she should be in the sheer delight of running her fingers over his by now very smooth back. "I'll be as careful as I can, but it's the first time that I've applied the oil like this."

"I'll tell you," Rumpelstiltskin assures her softly. "But I don't think… I know you'll never hurt me. I know that."

She didn't expect him to reply to her at all and she stills at the so long barely heard sound of his voice, of the tender tone of it. Tears well in her eyes at the trust he expresses to still have in her, trust of which she was almost entirely certain that it was long gone.

But she has done enough crying for now, enough crying for a lifetime, and there are considerably better things to focus on now.

"Thank you," she whispers, belatedly realizing that it might require a lot of him to speak up like this after everything he has gone through, after what he has been like in the past few months. "For trusting me like this. It means a lot to me."

Not wanting to linger on it, she gladly returns her attention to his back. Overcome by an urge to savor the moment, this point between past and future, hope and despair, she firstly spreads all the oil that's not evenly distributed yet properly over his back, her gestures more caresses than anything else.

Rumplestiltskin makes a soft sound of undeniable approval and when she briefly glances at his face again, she finds that he has closed his eyes, his expression still showing the calmness he displayed earlier.

Having spread the oil evenly over his back and getting slowly used to touching him again, Belle gradually begins to apply more pressure at the spots which seem most tense. There is no immediate improvement, but she hadn't expected that anyway, so she calmly strokes and caresses him, every once in a while digging her fingers a bit more firmly into his body.

On one such occurrence, he groans rather loudly, abruptly breaking the for once comfortable silence between them. She withdraws her hands immediately from where she'd been pressing them against a spot at the base of his skull, her eyes flying once more to his face with worry.

"No, it's good, it's… very good," he says, almost shyly, before she can voice her concern. "Please keep going? If you like?"

"Of course," she replies, smiling in relief and ever so stubborn hope.

Encouraged by his words, her touches become yet more confident. She keeps a close eye on his face again, by now convinced that she won't accidentally hurt his back by and wanting to remain certain that any sound he might make isn't due to any other discomfort.

Simply gazing at him like this is a delight in its own right. Only now it dawns on Belle that she basically hasn't _looked_ at her husband since the moment he was injured; first because it hurt to see him in so much pain and later because it was almost unbearable to see a man who hardly resembled the love of her life any longer.

Although the lines around his eyes and mouth are considerably deeper and more pronounced than they were before, his hair grayer and thinner and his face has become gaunt, there's a hint of warmth and affection - of _life_ \- in his eyes that hasn't been there for an almost too long time.

"Your are going to be all right, Rumplestiltskin," she whispers while her hands continue their efforts almost on their own accord, wanting to make as clear to him as she possible can that she won't give up on him and their relationship, that she still _fights_ for both of his health and their marriage. " _We_ are going to be all right."

She's focused on the tiny if beautiful smile that curves his lips upwards to the extent that it takes her a moment to realize that his body tenses, going yet more taut than it was when she began touching him.

"What's wrong?" she asks, for his sake trying but not entirely managing to keep the panic out of her voice as she wonders what has happened to cause this change, what she has done unknowingly to undo the progress they were making.

As she watches, his smile turns into something else entirely. A hint of the sorrow he has been drowning in for months remained on his face the whole time, but when his chin starts to wobble and Rumpelstiltskin lowers his gaze, she realizes that his sadness, even now, goes a whole lot deeper than that.

"Talk to me?" she pleads when he doesn't respond to her first inquiry.

She watches in horror when her husband helplessly shakes his head. It's terrible enough not to know what's overcoming him, let alone how she might help him conquer it, but it's yet more difficult to bear now that she just began to believe that she had broken through the walls around him after all.

"Nothing is wrong," he says in a choked voice just before the first tears start to roll down his cheek, "or at least, not now."

"What can I do to help?" she asks, the oil and the tension of his muscles long forgotten as she lies down at his side.

She brings her face to the same level as his in an instinctive attempt to get through to him once more, to break through right through the walls which he has erected all around him now that they are finally crumbling, revealing yet another glimpse of the man she loves.

"Just…"

His eyes are practically begging for something, tears now streaming down his face, but she doesn't know _what_ he is pleading for.

"What do you need?!" she asks, feeling completely helpless.

" _Belle_ …" he whimpers, reaching for her with a trembling hand.

She shivers when he says her name for the first time in far longer than she cares to remember. Just like that she knows _exactly_ what to do.

"I've got you, Rumplestiltskin," she whispers when she closes the distance between them to wrap her arms around him and pull him into her embrace. "I've _got_ you."

Belle is weeping too when he all but crawls into her, but she's smiling at the same time. She senses that she has finally, _finally_ got her husband back when he opens himself up to her again, sobbing the anguish of the past few months into the skin of her neck.

"I've got you and you've got me," she mutters, her touch as light and gentle as possible when she runs her hands over his still slightly slippery back this time. "We can get through this… we _will_ get through this. Together. We defeat the Ogres… we can defeat _this_."

Rumplestilskin only cries harder at those words, but he puts all the strength he still has left into his arms when he clings them around her just like she is holding onto him with all she has.

"You… you don't _have_ to do all this for me. I can't ask, I don't expect..." his words are thick with tears and misery, barely audible when he brings them out, but she understands him perfectly, no matter how much it hurts her to hear him say this. "You are so wonderful, Belle. So, _so_ wonderful. I don't deserve… I don't deserve any of your kindness. I don't deserve _you_. A crippled man like me, I have nothing to offer you for…"

"Stop it, _stop it,_ " she mutters, breaking away from him slightly so she can look him in the eyes while making very certain to keep one hand on his shoulder and bring the other to his face, anchoring him to her, to life itself. "Don't say that, Rumplestiltskin, don't. You _saved_ us, all of us… you deserve _everything_. And even if you hadn't… you're my _husband_."

She draws a shuddering breath, thoroughly relieved that he hears her out and, more than that, that he doesn't object to what she's saying, even though it goes entirely against what he appears to be persuaded of himself.

"I love you, Rumplestiltskin," she continues softly. " _I love you._ "

"I… I didn't know how to be a husband, how to make you _happy_ other than keeping the Ogres away from your lands and your people," he says haltingly, his hand hesitantly coming to rest on her side as he somewhat returns her embrace. "I didn't know how to be the man you deserved even without being… I still don't. _At all_."

"You've been my husband all along. You've been strong and kind and _good_ ," she whispers urgently, yet more tears welling in her eyes now that he has expressed that he has doubted his worth as her husband all this time, even before he was injured. "You _still_ are. I _want_ you to be my husband. I wanted you to be from the moment I got to know you and nothing has changed about that, nothing at all."

He whimpers her name again right as he buries himself in her arms, clinging to her with the same vigor she is holding on to him. Sensing that they finally able to move forward, Belle lovingly strokes his hair, resting her face against the back of his neck to inhale deeply and re-familiarize herself with his scent.

"I'd like to go see the flowers with you," he says timidly, eventually looking up at her with tentative but undeniable hope in his wet eyes. "I'd _love_ to do hat."

"I'd love that too," she replies when she recalls the suggestion she did at the beginning of this first real conversation they've had in a very long time.

"Maybe we can go see them tomorrow?"

"We'll go see the flowers tomorrow," Belle agrees, smiling against the side of his neck when they simultaneously lean in to one another to continue their embrace.


	29. Chapter 29

Her husband lets out a groan of discomfort when Belle helps him sit down on a log at the side of the lake where so much of their relationship has developed. Only now that she's back once more at the very place where his small campsite used to be, she realizes how much she has missed being here.

Still, Rumplestiltskin himself is all she has attention for when she helps him sit down, relieved that he has made it so far from the bedroom where he has spent practically all his time lately. In fact, she expected that he wouldn't make it here at all when they began their walk, in spite of the walking stick she had fetched for him and the way she encouraged him to lean on her.

But her knight once more found the strength and determination that already has surprised her so often, insisting to continue their walk despite the pain he is clearly still in each and every time he placed even a little weight on his injured ankle.

"It's beautiful here," he says softly, deeply inhaling the fresh spring air when he takes in the lakeside where they have spent so much time together before his eyes land on her once more, wordlessly extending the compliment to her.

"It is," she says, looking right back at him for several heartbeats before she puts his walking stick aside and gestures at the flowers she wants to show him. "I hadn't seen them here yet, but I assumed they would grow here as well."

She did see the yellow and white flowers at and near the courtyard beyond the inner gate, right where her husband was gravely injured. Because of this proximity, she felt that it would be much better for them to return to a place that holds many good memories rather than horrible ones. Especially because the courtyard is still only partially repaired after defeating the Ogres right there also resulted in considerable damage to what once was the beating heart of the castle.

"It's good to be back here," he sighs, tentatively reaching for her hand.

Belle nods in agreement, gratefully taking his hand in her own and squeezing it a little.

"I had forgotten how lovely it is," she says, recalling the interactions she had him with here much more vividly than the lake itself.

Looking away from her husband for a moment longer, she regards the trees, calm water, rocks and narrow strip of sand surrounding them. It's the only part of the castle and its grounds that has been remained entirely untouched by the war against the Ogres, lying protected by the castle at the front and the mountains at the back of it.

"It's strange, isn't it, that so much has changed for us, but that this spot is still exactly the same?" he notes quietly.

"It is," she agrees, looking back at him. "But I like to think that it means that things and places, perhaps even people, don't necessarily have to change for the worse because of war."

"I wish I felt the same way," he says, his gaze darkening when he glances at his ankle.

"It's true that you were badly injured and still suffer a lot of pain," she says carefully, relieved that his expression softens when he looks back at her, "and yet, here we are again, the two of us, talking like this. I must admit… I had almost lost the hope that we would have such moments again."

"You're right," he says, nodding. "I had given up all hope of anything as nice ass this ever happening again. But thanks to you…"

"Thanks to _us_ ," she corrects him gently. "We're in this together, after all."

"Indeed," he mutters, tightening his hold on her hand.

She scoots closer to him in response, shifting towards him until their shoulders, thighs and knees are pressing lightly against one another.

"I can't thank you enough, Belle. Everything that you've done for me… I wouldn't be alive if it hadn't been for you. When I was hurt during the battle, when I knew I would never be able to walk easily again, to _fight_ again… I wanted to give up."

Her eyes widen in shock when she finds out that she had been yet closer to losing him than she already thought, that he had almost _died_ although his injuries themselves hadn't been life-threatening.

"I wanted to give up," he repeats, his still free hand joining his other where it already holds hers. "I almost had, but every time… you were there, Belle. I heard your voice, I saw and felt you… even when I told myself that I would be nothing but a burden to you if I survived, even when I didn't _want_ to be that burden for you… I couldn't give up because _you_ didn't give up."

She tentatively wraps an arm around him, no longer surprised but still thoroughly delighted when he accepts her touch once more, especially when he reaches for her as well in a similar way, moving his arm around her back and resting his hand very lightly on her waist.

"I'm glad," she whispers, lying her head on his shoulder and finally allowing herself to slowly but surely truly believe that the man who was all but lost to her is returning to her after all.

"I'm glad as well," he replies, resting her head against his in response. "Very glad."

Rumplestiltskin doesn't say anything else and she doesn't know how else she might verbally express her gratitude that both of them have gotten to this moment together. But as they quietly and peacefully sit together like that, watching the beautiful natural scene all around them, she knows that they don't have to.

That strength of that conviction further increases when Rumplestiltskin snuggles against her after a while and makes a sound of unmistakable approval when she lightly strokes his side.

"Have you spoken with your father about what's to become of me?" he asks at length, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

"What do you mean?" she asks in return, not understanding.

"I can't fight anymore," he says, moving slightly away from her to be able to look her in the eyes once more. "There isn't _anything_ I can do anymore."

"That's not true, please know that," she hastily reassures him, horrified that he seems to think that her father might want to dispose of him after everything he has done for them - now that he is _hers_. "There are things you can do other than fighting. We talked about it before, didn't we? My father and I both hope that you will take your place at the council. You know more about strategy than anyone else."

"But we don't need strategy anymore, do we?" he says very quietly. "Now that the Ogres are gone. Your father doesn't need _me_ anymore."

"Please don't say you think like this… that you've been thinking like this the whole time," she mutters in horror.

"Of course I have," he replies, helplessly looking at her. "What need can your father still have of me?"

"Well, to start with, there will sooner or later always be another enemy, whether we can foresee it now or not," she says, taking a deep breath. "No matter how much I would like it to be otherwise, I won't believe that we can live peacefully and happily ever after now that the Ogres are gone. There might be other Ogres, other enemies. Maybe next year, maybe next decade, but they will be there one day. We will be very, very happy to have you when that day arrives. You can design our new defenses."

She inwardly sighs when Rumpelstiltskin hardly looks convinced at all - or at least, doubtful of his own usefulness rather than one threat or another which they will eventually have to face.

"You're a _hero_ , Rumplestiltskin. Everyone wants you to be involved as much as possible in the future of our lands. _I_ do."

He looks only less persuaded, as if the notion that both she and her father wants him to join the council is as unlikely that the people want him to do so, too.

"We have also talked about your knowledge on agriculture," she continues, not giving up. "Do you remember? You have been a spinner, you kept sheep. Because of that alone you know more about farming than anyone else on my father's council does."

"But I don't see how…"

"The Ogres destroyed much of our lands and farms," she interrupts kindly before he can finish his sentence. "It's a disaster, but at the same time it's an opportunity to improve our food production. The plots or land we had so far were small, the yield low. We grow only a small variety of crops and have to heavily rely on trade with other lands. Before the war, I read interesting reports from the Queen and King's advisors from the capital. My father always said there was no way we could change our own traditional ways of farming to achieve those improvements, but now that everything is in ruins anyway…"

"What are you saying?!" he asks, his tone finally including some hope and definite interest.

"Take your place on my father's council, either as a strategy advisor or farming advisor, or both. There's no one here who knows nearly as much about war and battle strategy as you do, but if you'd like to help ensure that our people survive through the next winter, and the ones after that, by having enough food available… I suggest you read the reports I mentioned. Go talk to the farmers and the traders, see what they do now, what problems they face and what successes they achieve, what they need to increase production. Put that wonderful mind of yours to use and tell my father and his council what the possibilities are, what you need from the council to make them reality."

"You think I can do that?"

"I _know_ you can do that."

When tears well in his eyes and he tentatively smiles at her again, Belle carefully wipes the salty liquid away with tender fingertips. His eyes flutter closed at the easily accepted touch and, further encouraged, she leans in to brush her lips against his forehead.

"How do I start?" he whispers when her mouth is still pressed lightly against his no longer cold skin.

"How about I give you the reports I was talking about?" she suggests, resting her forehead against his, her own eyes closing as well. "I can get them tomorrow morning. You can start by reading them, perhaps write down some of your own ideas and suggestions. Not just about farming, but about defense and strategy as well if you like. From there on, you can go visit the fields and farms when you feel ready for it."

She purposefully doesn't advice him to get involved in the defenses of the castle just yet, fearing that it's too soon for him to do so.

"I'd like to try that, yes. Thank you, Belle. Thank you very much."

Although his eyes are bright with appreciation, Rumpelstiltskin makes no move to return her gesture of affection, to physically express his gratitude. Still, she isn't disappointed that he doesn't react to her in kind; the way he looks at her is more than enough for now.

"Can you pick me some flowers?" he asks, gesturing at the brightly colored buds in question growing a few feet away from them. "I'd prefer to get them myself, but…"

She doesn't mind in the slightest to abandon her place at her husband's side for a moment in order to get the flowers he points at, delighted that he takes an interest in them to begin with. Wondering what he might do with them, she only plucks the prettiest of the flowers, returning to him with a smile and the flowers in her hands.

"Sit down next to me with your back towards me?" he requests, almost shyly.

"Of course," she says, doing so immediately, although she doesn't understand why he's asking this.

She sees perfectly well what he has in mind after all when he holds one of the flowers she picked next to her face, against her hair, just visible from the corners of her eyes.

"Would you like if I…"

"I'd love if you'd put flowers in my hair," she says, almost giddy at the prospect of the small, highly unexpected expression of affection. "Put in as many as you like."

"Can I put down your hair?"

Before he was injured, that timid question would have been chaste compared to many other things they shared, but what he says now is almost like a declaration of desire in its own right.

"You can," she replies, shivering pleasantly when his fingers brush against the sides of her neck in a probably accidental but still very enjoyable manner when he undoes the ribbons which previously kept her hair up.

"Your hair is so pretty," he murmurs, as if he has never noticed before - as if he has _forgotten_.

"Why, thank you," she breathes, thrilled and admittedly flattered that he observes her in such a reverent light again, let alone puts his thoughts into words.

Belle closes her eyes, savoring every moment, every second, when her husband carefully begins to weave the flowers into her hair with slowly but surely increasing confidence and enthusiasm, his ever so deft fingers eventually flying through her curls like there hasn't been an awfully long time in which he didn't do so.

Although he spends considerable time touching her like this, establishing more physical contact between them on his own accord all at once than he has done for the past few months combined, he withdraws his hands far too soon for her liking.

Still, she's hardly feeling bereft when he carefully reaches for her shoulder and encourages her to turn towards him again. When he takes in the sight of her with eager eyes, he looks at her as if she is the most beautiful person or thing he has ever seen. It's a relief in itself that he can find such delight in the world again and of course especially so that he finds such beauty in _her_.

It's better yet when he leans in to her and, after she nods enthusiastically, presses his lips lightly against her cheek for a brief moment.

"Thank you so much, Belle," he breathes warmly against her skin, his gratitude meaning yet more to her now that he expresses it like this. "For everything."

"Thank _you_ for not giving up," she replies, hoping that he will know that she appreciates how far they have come together yet more now that she has found out how close he has been to not wanting to live anymore at all.

"The oil you used yesterday," he asks carefully, looking at her from the corners of his eyes, "do you think you can use it again?"

"Of course I can, I'd love to!" she replies, thrilled that he mentions the treatment he has refused for such a long time on his own accord now. "We can do it as soon as we get back to our chambers."

"Let's go back home then?"

"Let's go, yes," she agrees, standing up to offer him his walking stick and her arm.

Rumplestiltskin takes the offered support without objection or hesitance, immediately leaning on her for assistance as they slowly but surely make their way home.


	30. Chapter 30

Going back to their chambers from the lake takes yet longer than it took them to get to the lake earlier that day, but Belle isn't deterred in the slightest now that her husband allows her to help him as much as she can.

When they reach their room - or rather, the bed inside of it - at last, she carefully helps him sit down, all the while making certain that there is as little pressure on his ankle as possible. To her delight and confusion alike, Rumpelstiltskin doesn't remove his arm from around her shoulder immediately, instead maintaining the closeness between them.

She was very excited about the prospect of massaging the healing oil into the skin of her considerably more willing husband, but this nearness to him is very lovely in its own right.

"Can you help me take my boots off?" he asks softly, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes.

"I definitely can help you with that," she replies carefully, very much aware how much it means that he trusts her with this as well, that it isn't about the act of taking off his boots itself but much more about her possibly seeing his injury in the process.

"I'd appreciate that very much."

"Is the pain in your leg worse because we walked to the lake?" she asks guiltily, so far having thought more of the benefits of finally getting him out of the room where he spends practically all his time than the possible downsides.

More than that, she recalls only too well how insistent Rumplestiltskin was this morning to get dressed without any help from her, no matter how difficult it was for him to put on his high boots himself, let alone the rest of his clothing.

"No, it doesn't, not really. My ankle always hurts… a lot."

The discovery that his trust in her rather than the pain he suffers has increased is hardly any relief whatsoever in light of the realization in how much discomfort he is still is - and has been all this time since he was injured.

"It will make my ankle feel better too, won't it?" he asks quietly. "The oil?"

"It will. I expect it will make your ankle feel a lot better than it does the rest of your body."

"Would you mind applying the oil to my ankle as well then?"

" _Of course_ I don't mind doing that."

"It's just that… my ankle… it looks horrible, Belle. It still does. The healers said it won't get any better than the way it is now. I _know_ you are a nurse and that you must have seen a lot of unpleasant things, but..."

"I understand, Rumplestiltskin, I do," she says softly, snuggling more closely against him to express her acceptance of him, with or without scars. "I know there's a large difference between seeing someone hurt who you don't know or seeing someone who is very dear to you like that. But the way I see it, it's much easier to accept those changes if we get to know each other all over again rather than deny that anything has changed in the first place."

"I hope that's true, I really do," he breathes, burying his face in her hair.

"You know that it doesn't truly matter to me, don't you?" she asks quietly, horrified by the extent of his fear for her reaction to the injuries he suffered when saving them all. "No matter what you might look like, _I love you_."

"I'm… I'm starting to learn to see that," he says, his fingertips more tentative than ever before when he touches her cheek. "Slowly. Very slowly."

"We'll get there," she reassures him, this touch alone so much more than she could have hoped for even a few days ago. "We'll get through this together. I know we will."

He gives her another one of the small smiles which have become more and more frequent very recently. If that isn't enough to persuade her yet further of the change that has come over him, the way her husband presses his lips against her forehead with infinite tenderness definitely is.

"Just tell me when you are ready for me to see your ankle, Rumplestiltskin," she says, kissing his cheek in response, mirroring his action when they were sitting by the lake.

"There's no point in postponing it any further, is there?" he sighs good-naturedly.

"I don't think there is, no."

"Well then," he sighs, squaring his shoulders and letting out another, shuddering sigh. "If you don't object to assisting me, to _seeing_ me… I'm ready, Belle. Or at least, as ready as I can be."

He nods to underscore his words and she swallows with sudden difficulty at the prospect of finally seeing for herself to what extent his body has been damaged in the battle that freed them from the Ogres.

Belle has spent considerable time thinking about this when she began to fear more and more that there would never come a time that her husband would trust her with the sight of his injured leg, but only now it dawns on her that she has never wondered what it might be like for _her_ to see the permanent damage to his body.

"I'm ready, too," she says, despite the dread that begins to well up inside of her knowing that this will never get any less difficult than it is now.

When he nods in agreement, she kneels down at his feet. She first takes off the boot of his good ankle, removing his worn sock as well while she's at it. That's when the easy part is over. She is as careful as she can be when she tentatively takes off his other boot as well, inching it down his ankle and foot one tiny bit at a time.

"It hardly hurts," he comments when she's about halfway, as if that's supposed to be comforting.

She smiles tightly at him, trying to be yet more careful than she already is. When both his boots are removed at last, she manages not to take in the skin she has revealed just yet, first focusing on getting his second sock off as well. The fabric itself is easier to remove, but it's a considerable challenge in its own right not to look yet at the bare skin she's revealing in its entirety now.

In the end, she opts for closing her eyes altogether, not wanting to be distracted in any way while she's still in the process of exposing his lower leg, determined to add as little to his discomfort as she possibly can. Fortunately, all she needs is her hands to sense the shape of his foot and the best way to slide the sock off it - although even to her fingertips the damage to his skin is unmistakable.

"Look at it?" he softly requests when his entire ankle is bare at last, his voice almost breaking.

She swallows heavily, dismayed that he still thinks that the sight of his injury will change her opinion of him after all. Still, she hesitates despite herself, loathing the prospect of seeing the man she loves maimed. Nodding to him in which she hopes is an encouraging manner, she finally brings herself to take her first look at the part of his body that got the brunt of the damage during the battle which saved all their lives.

Despite herself, Belle gasps in shock when she takes in the disfigured joint for the first time. Although she knows very well that the healers have done their very best for him, it's obvious that the bone was violently broken and that it never healed the way it should have. But beyond the painful looking angle of his ankle, it's the skin itself that leaves her the most horrified.

Almost from his toes all the way up to his lower leg, his skin is discolored and equally badly healed. If it hadn't been for the rough look and feel of it, she might have thought that the skin was recently badly bruised, but she knows only too well that his injury goes far beyond that. As if that isn't enough, the thick scar tissue covering the greater part of his lower leg is a harsh reminder of the reality.

"It's hideous," he remarks in a curiously emotionless way. "Even you can't hide your disgust. It's because _I_ am hi..."

"It's not that," she replies, holding back the tears that well in her eyes because of what has been done to him. "Please don't ever think that. I'm not disgusted by the way you look; I'm disgusted by what you had to go through."

"You don't have to…"

Whatever her husband meant to say, the words are stuck on his lips when she bends over and tenderly kisses the angry red, almost purple skin. Looking at her in utter disbelief, he brings a tentative hand to her head when she purposefully presses another lingering kiss against the rough surface.

Further encouraged when he lightly caresses her hair, she places kisses all over his ruined ankle. To her delight, he relaxes ever so slightly under her ministrations, letting out a deep breath while she makes her acceptance of him as clear as she can.

"You are my husband and I think you are beautiful," she whispers in between kisses, using her hands to reach those parts of his lower leg she can't touch simultaneously with her mouth. "These scars make you only more beautiful to me, because they are proof of what you did to keep me and my people as safe as possible. I love you only more."

"Sweetheart…"

His voice breaks over that single word as he looks at her helplessly. She hushes him softly, sitting down next to him on the bed. Belle helps him lean back against the wall behind it, assisting him to place his legs on the mattress as well. She pulls the blanket over his bare feet to protect them against the cold, making certain to keep her hand on his bad ankle and never cease caressing it.

"I said horrible things to you," he whispers, tears appearing in his eyes. "When I was in the infirmary and I believed you didn't want me anymore… When I wanted you to go away before you would actually tell me that you couldn't marry a crippled knight without any gold or titles to his name…"

"I never would have stopped wanting you as my husband," she replies, resting his face against her neck. "I never would have stopped wanting _you_. You know that, don't you?"

"I know that now," he says, clinging to her. "Although it's still often difficult to grasp. Especially because… the things I said and did to you… I'm so sorry, Belle. So very sorry. I don't even know how to begin apologizing for my behavior, if there is a way that I can earn forgiveness."

"I already have forgiven you, Rumplestiltskin. It's true that you said and did horrible things, that you _hurt_ me… but I know why you did that. I know why you felt at the time that it was the only way to protect both of us."

"I'm so glad that I was wrong," he breathes, clinging to her with all the strength he still has in his body. "So very glad. And from now on I know... at least I know that you are _right,_ Belle. No matter how unjustified your optimism seems, I know now that you are right, that I can trust your judgment no matter what."

She rests her head against his, relaxing further than she thought she still could. Belle may have thought everything between them was resolved since he finally managed to break free of his fears and insecurities, when he literally and figuratively let her into his life again, but she finds it's so much better yet now that he has actually voiced his apology.

"You are forgiven," she tells him again, far happier to focus on the present rather than to linger on the past. "We can move forward, together, that's what's the most important."

"If it wasn't for you and your lovely stubbornness and hope… and your oils…"

She hums happily in agreement, shivering pleasantly when he twirls a curl of her hair around his reverent fingers.

"Speaking of oils," he continues, looking at her in a very endearing, almost shy manner. "Do you suppose you could…"

"Of course!" she exclaims, recalling their main reason for going straight back to their chambers in the first place. "Shall I get started right now?"

"That would be very pleasant, thank you."

"Shall I get started with your ankle?"

"I'd like that, yes."

Both thrilled by the fact that her husband has grown to trust her like this once more and slightly nervous because of the sense of responsibility that makes her feel, Belle reaches for the pot of oil and starts her task.


	31. Chapter 31

Belle is as careful as she has ever been while working as a nurse now that it's her own husband's badly healed injury that she treats. Although she has already seen what has become of his shattered ankle only a few moments ago, she is quite certain that the sight of it will never be less daunting.

At least this time she knows that she can actually do something to help him. Making certain that Rumplestiltskin is as comfortable as he can be, leaning back against the wall behind their bed, she coats her fingers and palm in a generous layer of healing oil, keeping it there for a while to warm it before spreading the substance ever so tentatively over his maimed skin.

He hisses none too quietly as she does so, but when she looks up at his face she sees nothing but a relaxed smile there. She mirrors his expression when he nods in encouragement.

"It doesn't hurt at all, Belle," he says, unprompted. "In fact, it… it feels better already."

"Told you," she mutters, playfully bumping her shoulder against his.

"As always, my sweet wife was right again," he replies lovingly.

Her smile fades however when she returns her attention to the task at hand, trying to rub the oil into his skin without causing any actual discomfort.

"This is incredible," he murmurs, his eyes closing as he further relaxes although she's still touching the doubtlessly ever so sensitive ankle.

He wiggles his lower leg experimentally, his gasp of surprise informing her that the dexterity of the limb has already increased, if only a little. It's beyond her wildest hopes, especially when Rumplestiltskin leans closer towards her and traces reverent, slightly trembling fingertips over the back of her hand.

No matter how much she wishes that she could continue touching him like this until she undid all damage to his lower leg as if by sheer magic, there's of course no way that she can heal him beyond what has been achieved already. Luckily, there's an alternative that's slightly less effective, but a whole lot more enjoyable.

"Would you like me to do your back again as well?" she murmurs, delighted when he nods enthusiastically.

She's happier yet when he immediately pulls off his jerkin and shirt on his own accord, lying down on his stomach at her side in a trustful manner she could only have dreamed of until recently.

Belle eagerly reaches for the pot of oil again, finding yet more delight in massaging his back, shoulders and sides with her slippery hands now that he's already less tense than when she did so last time.

Rumplestiltskin sighs in clear contentment when she continues her ministrations, running her fingers and the palm of her hand over his back over and over again, applying pressure wherever she senses taut muscles.

"There's a spot between my shoulders that hurts a bit," he remarks timidly. "Could you…"

"You'd like me to focus on that for a while?" she asks, her joy increasing yet further now that he isn't only clearly enjoying her ministrations, but takes a more active role in them as well.

As soon as he nods, her fingers move to the spot that he mentioned, pressing lightly to find the exact place he would like to be touched. She knows that she found it it when he sighs particularly deeply, encouraging her to press her fingers more firmly against it, kneading and rubbing until her husband is groaning quietly beneath her.

They may not be making love like she hoped they would now that they are married, but this is an alternative she can easily live with. It's not just that she's convinced that this is the most she can hope for now that his injury still impacts each minute of his life; it's rather thrilling in its own right to have such an impact on him when she's merely trying to make him more comfortable.

Belle runs her never tiring hands over him for many far too quickly passing minutes, the majority of that time indulging in the sheer sensations that touching him evokes within her rather than doing so for actually functional reasons. She is quite certain that her husband is as much aware of that as she is herself, but he doesn't say anything as she continues to touch him.

She withdraws her hands only when she can no longer pretend even a little that there's still a purpose to her touches other than her own enjoyment. No matter how much it pleases her that he is smiling lightly against the pillow which his head is resting on, his face tilted towards her, she doesn't want to push her luck. She won't give up her chance of doing this again tomorrow - and the day after that, and after that - for a few more minutes of bliss right now.

"I think that will do," she announces with a cheerfulness she doesn't entirely feel, moving away from him.

"Keep going for a little while longer?" he asks, smiling shyly at her as if he feels that he is asking her a huge favor rather than requesting something she is only more than willing to grand.

"I'd love to," she says, immediately returning to her task, delighted that he too can't get enough of their contact even now that it has lost all of its original functionality.

She continues right as she left off, lazily caressing his skin rather than willing his already entirely relaxed muscles into further submission. His smile only widens when she does so, making soft and beautiful noises of appreciation.

"I love it when you do this," he mutters, his eyes brighter than they have been in a long time. "It feels very lovely."

"It's the same for me," she replies, trailing her fingertips over the hard edges of his spine. "I very much enjoy touching you."

"I'm glad, because I very much enjoy being touched by you," he says, his eyes as timid and hopeful as his words.

It's as if they're rediscovering each other and their relationship all over again, reestablishing truths, affections and desire which were once self-evident.

"I was wondering if you'd perhaps like to… touch more of me?"

She raises a questioning eyebrow, but the unspoken need for clarification is equally wordlessly met as Rumpelstiltskin starts to move himself onto his back. She didn't exactly mean for him to turn around, but now that he does so she is perfectly happy with that development, assisting him with careful hands.

Belle lets her hands linger on his sides as he hopefully looks up to her. No matter how much she would like to run her hands all over his chest like she just did with his back, no matter how much he looks like he wants her to do exactly that, she hesitates. She recalls only too well how averse he was to her touch until recently and she's afraid that one wrong move might undo all the progress they have achieved.

"Can you…"

His voice is still timid, but there's conviction in his movements when he reaches for her hand and places it questioningly on his belly. Seeing how certain he is about this and by now convinced that her husband truly wishes her to touch him like this, Belle experimentally trails her fingers upwards, all the way up to his throat where he swallows heavily.

"Is this all right?" she asks, the quivering of his body and the goosebumps her fingers raise in their wake telling her that this side of his body is much more sensitive than the other one.

He nods, unmistakably eager, convincing her to repeat the motions. Rumplestiltskin closes his eyes in response, groaning softly in a way that's just as appreciative but somewhat different than before.

Now that he isn't looking at her any longer, she takes the chance to study her husband's chest. Even before he got injured and refused to be in the same room as her, let alone let her take a proper look at him, she has never seen his torso like this. After all, in the few times that he has been unclothed within her sight, he was either a considerable distance away in the moonlight or both of them were far too caught up in touching said exposed skin rather than memorizing the sight of it to memory.

But this time, Belle hungrily takes in his pale and scarred skin and looks with yet more attention and enthusiasm at the dark trail of hair leading downwards from his bellybutton... at the two little, rather dark nubs on his chest, recalling only too well the effect she had when she touched him in long gone days.

But for now, she's content to tentatively trail her still slightly slick fingertips in a line from his throat to his bellybutton and back again, over and over. Only when her husband remains as relaxed as he is, she places her hand flat on his skin and repeats the same course as before, this time with the palm of her hand, increasing the contact between them.

Rumplestiltskin continues to hum and groan in approval. When she glances back up at his face after a while, his eyes have opened again and he's looking up at her with a small smile, his dark eyes more content than they have been in a long time, even before he was injured.

Smiling back at him, she also notices that his previously pale skin is now colored by a delightful flush. Lying down at his side, leaving minimal distance between her chest and his bicep, she runs her hands over him in a much more leisure way, thoroughly enjoying the sensations of her husband's body lightly twitching beneath her palm and fingertips.

She lingers at certain spots too, grinning in delight when he becomes a little ticklish when she toys with his bellybutton... and to see the smile fall from his face when she carefully shifts her fingers lower for the first time, purposefully following the trail of soft hair until she reaches the edge of his breeches.

Her husband closes his eyes and his breath quickens when she touches him more intimately than she has done for longer than she wants to think of right now. Belle knows that this is exactly the kind of touch that would have left him as desperate for _more_ as herself.

She knows better yet that they are _married_ now and that they can finally give in to their desires.

Although the man who has become her husband at last groans in unmistakable approval when she touches him like this, although he doesn't tense when her fingertips explore him in a way she has never done before, a single glance at the front of his breeches tells her that he isn't excited like he would have been if she had done this before his ankle was shattered, and his mind almost along with it.

Reminding herself that they have already made so much more progress than she would have thought possible until only a few days ago, Belle withdraws her fingers from his abdomen and goes on to caress his chest lightly. She ignores the urge to find out what might happen if she were to brush her fingertips over the once highly sensitive little buds which once drove him wonderfully mad with desire with even the lightest touch.

She is trilled when his hands come to rest on her side to stroke her lightly, almost making her forget entirely about the sad months in which he didn't touch her at all. That's why she's somewhat disappointment when his touch ceases after a while, whereas her own hand continues to stroke his skin. Looking back at his face, she finds that his eyes are closed and that his breathing has become deeper.

"How about we go to sleep?" she asks quietly, realizing that he's starting to drift off.

Although a part of her would like to continue for as long as she can, the luxury of touching him and him accepting her attentions an almost forgotten one, Belle is very pleased that he's willing - and able - to let his guard down like this in her company in the first place.

"I'd like that," he says, looking hopefully at her.

Hope is evoked within her as well when it dawns on her that this might as well be the first time that they properly go to sleep like husband and wife. It might not involve the passion and lack of clothes she has dreamed of, but for now anything is better than for them to spend yet another night on the opposite edges of the bed with as much distance between them as there can possibly be.

"Hold me?" he requests very, very softly.

She nods firmly in response, willing the tears away which well in her eyes in response to his suggestion. It wouldn't bother her for her husband to see her cry, but she's had more than enough of tears and sorrow for a long time and she very much prefers to only focus on pleasant things.

"Of course, husband," she whispers tenderly, "can you lay down on your side?"

"I should be able to achieve that," he replies, doing exactly that with the aid of her hand on his lower back, his eyes still closed and his voice wonderfully dreamy.

"Goodnight, Rumplestiltskin," she whispers, pulling a blanket over the two of of them.

Tears of joy roll down her cheeks after all when he rests his face against her chest and places his hands on her side while he snuggles against her.

"Goodnight, Belle," he mutters, his loving tone obvious although it sound like he's half asleep already.

She tenderly caresses his hair, delightfully comfortable and beyond grateful to have her husband willingly in her arms again. It hardly surprises her that he begins to snore lightly immediately. Belle is perfectly happy to stay awake for quite a while longer, savoring what might as well be the return of her husband.


	32. Chapter 32

Rumplestiltskin doesn't let go of her hand when they make their way through the door of her bedroom, much to his wife's delight. She expects that his increased duties on her father's council today have left him exhausted, considering the enthusiasm and energy with which he has embraced his new tasks, surprising everyone - himself possibly most of all.

But although he stifles a yawn when they enter their bedroom, her husband looks at her with unmistakeable hope when they close the door firmly behind them.

"Can you use the oils again?" he asks, looking from the pot which contain them to her.

"Of course," she says, delighted that he makes this request despite his tiredness. "But let's get ready for bed first, shall we?"

He nods sheepishly, probably recalling as well as she does herself that they fell asleep on their bed in their day clothes three days ago.

Like the two previous evenings, Rumplestiltskin turns his back towards her when both of them change into their nightclothes. Despite the similarities, it doesn't remind her of when he did almost exactly the same thing back when he simply refused to look at her.

Belle has the strong suspicion that the reason that her husband looks away from her now is not because the sight of her undressed self would make him want a massage of a quite different kind than she is currently planning to give him. Still, she knows that he is no longer trying to drive her away, either. She supposes that he's currently falling back on courtesy, not quite knowing any longer how else to act around her in moments like these.

She will try to talk to him about this soon, to let him know that she would be perfectly fine if he were to watch her while she changes her clothes. But for tonight, she savors the victory that he lays down exactly like she prefers him to without any urging, wordlessly encouraging her to get the healing oil all over his body.

The ease with which she has learned to apply the oil to her husband's body may make it tempting to forget, but when she gets started with his ankle she doesn't lose awareness for only a moment how unexpected and precious the routine is that they have established in only a few days' time.

Although she has applied the oil to his lower leg only three times so far, each time at nightfall for three consecutive days, she likes to think that there's an improvement already. The marred skin has become of a slightly more healthy color and Rumplestiltskin tells her time and time again that the not entirely correctly healed bones and muscles don't hurt as much as they did before. He even has some less difficulty walking.

The physical improvements may be wonderful, especially considering the short term in which they occur, but the emotional and physiological ones are yet more astonishing. As if he's had no trouble whatsoever in the recent past with both literally and metaphorically baring himself to her, her husband lays down comfortably on his stomach right in front of her, moving on his own accord once more as soon as she was done with his ankle.

His upper body and the majority of his legs are willingly exposed to give her optimal access to all the areas that require her attention. Not only does she see the merit of the treatment she has been hoping to start almost from the moment he was injured, but her husband himself is by now clearly also entirely convinced of the benefits… and right along with her he has discovered some other perks as well.

Her husband may have expressed no interest yet in physical contact of a more sensual kind and Belle may not believe that it's a mere matter of time, but she's increasingly convinced that they will find a way to be happy together now that both the progress of him personally and their relationship is still continuing.

He hums in approval when she massages the by now limited amount of tension out of his back, her touches soon becoming unabashed caresses. By now she knows better than to pretend that her movements are purely functional, let alone that he isn't enjoying the almost frivolous patterns she draws on his scarred skin as much as she does herself.

Rumplestiltskin moves onto his back however quite soon, but she knows better than to think that he's trying to get her to hurry. Well, in a way, he _is_ , but by now she has learned that he's as enthusiastic about the last part of the massage as she is himself. In fact, he has become increasingly eager for her to get her hand on his chest rather than anywhere else.

Until very recently Belle had some qualms about getting her increasingly eager palms and fingertips all over his chest, but those times are long gone. She has still seen no sign of his arousal, no matter how mischievous her hands get when caressing his chest, but he makes obvious that he still very much enjoys her ministrations beyond the solely functional aspect of them.

Laying comfortably on her side next to him, she scratches the two most sensitive spots of his chest with her nails ever so lightly, smiling when he groans with unmistakeable approval.

"You're doing so much for me, sweetheart," he says, his eyes delightfully lazy and content when they focus on her.

"You'd do the same for me, if our roles were reversed," she says simply.

"I can only hope that I'd be truly as kind, supportive and generous as you if it were to be like that," he remarks, covering her hand with his own.

"I'm certain of it, Rumplestiltskin," she replies, convinced that he believes her when he brings her hand to his mouth and fondly kisses the back of it.

"You'll faith in me will never cease to amaze me," he sighs, kissing her knuckles again and again. "That makes it yet more important to ask… is there something _you_ would enjoy to do?"

"You think I'm not enjoying this?" she asks softly, a little shocked that he thinks that she doesn't like this and at the same time delighted that he once more puts emphasis on her preferences.

"I hope you are… I _think_ you are."

"I am, very much," she assures him, bending over him to press a tentative kiss against his forehead.

"Do you enjoy this as much as kissing?"

She falters, her lips still pressed against his skin, not having expected him to ask anything along those lines, especially not so matter-of-factly as this. She hesitates while she considers her reply, but it isn't all that difficult to formulate a response when she remembers that honesty has almost always been the safest _and_ easiest road with him.

"There's little I ever enjoyed as much as kissing you, before… _before_."

"I think I enjoy it equally," he says, his eyes once more almost shy when they look up at her. "But I was thinking, because you're doing so much for me… I want to do something for you as well. Something which you enjoy the most."

"You'd like to kiss me again?" she breathes, despite herself stunned now that the moment which she has inwardly hoped for all along has presented itself so unexpectedly.

"Yes."

That single word may be as simple as they come, but there's nothing easy about the tentative, almost apprehensive look that's written all over his face.

"Do you _want_ to kiss me again?" she whispers.

"I want both of us to feel the way we did when we kissed before."

Belle can tell that he struggles to say this to her, to hint at his fears and insecurities. By now, she has also learned to understand what her husband means when he isn't actually telling her things... that, in this case, he's afraid that he can no longer make her feel like he did when he kissed her before he was hurt.

"I don't think it will feel exactly the same if we kiss again no matter what," she says thoughtfully, continuing to stroke his chest in way of which she knows by now that it calms both of them. "The few times that we kissed, both of us were completely carried away by what we were doing. We didn't think at all, we just _felt_. That was wonderful, but I don't think that we can kiss again like that… or at least, not in the beginning. But I'm convinced that other ways of kissing will we very nice as well… but we won't know for certain until we try."

"I do want to try, Belle. I do. But I'm scared that it won't please you the way I did… that _I_ won't please you. I'm still surprised that I pleased you _at all_ before I was injured. I had no idea at all what I was doing… I still don't."

"I didn't know what I was doing either, dear husband. But I do know that we found a way before, together, that we ended up _really_ enjoying one another whenever we kissed, without practice. Imagine what it might feel like if we _do_ practice."

"Would you like to do that? To _practice_?"

"Yes," she simply says. "And you?"

"I'd like to try, yes."

"You know I'd really like to as well, Rumplestiltskin. But please don't agree to this because it's what _I_ want. I want you to want it too."

"I do, sweetheart, I do," he says, speaking with more conviction than he has said anything since he was hurt. "The more we're talking about it, the more I think about it, the more I _want_ to."

"Good," she breathes, shivering pleasantly when she senses a hint of his old fire in him. "How about we start practicing, then?"

"I'd love that," he whispers, yet more delicious tremors running through her when he glances at her lips.

Making certain that he is still laying comfortably on the mattress, she leans over him for the kiss she has been dreaming of since long before he was injured; their first real kiss as husband and wife.

After all what they have gone through in the past few months, after all her hope he inadvertently crushed, it shouldn't come as a surprise to her that Rumplestiltskin prevents her from kissing him after all. Still, it's a shock regardless when he places his hand on her shoulder, despite the gentleness of the gesture itself effectively preventing her from leaning in to him and kissing him.

Belle can only stare at him in apprehension, shocked and utterly confused on why he would still refuse her nearness and her affection, if only because he just told her in no uncertain terms that he would like for the two of them to kiss again.

The panic that threatens to rise within her disappears immediately however when she sees the look on his face, his eyes widening in horror when he seems to realize what's going through her mind.

"I merely wanted to suggest to get more comfortable first," he explains, hastily withdrawing his hand from where it's still touching her shoulder.

"That's… that's probably a good idea, yes," she says, realizing only then that the angle with which she is currently leaning over him is indeed not the most pleasant and easy one.

"I'm sorry that my suggestion came out the way it did," he says, his regret almost tangible. "I'm sorry for ruining yet another moment between us, another chance to…"

"It's all right," she whispers, stroking his cheek with her fingertips in an attempt to reassure him.

"I appreciate that you say that, sweetheart, but how can it be?! After everything I've already done, the appalling way I behaved towards you over and over again..."

" _This_ time it is all right," she insists, sitting up but never leaving his side. "Like it will be, from now on. Like _we_ will be all right. I think it's a matter of continuing to be open and honest with each other… like you just told me why you stopped me so that I could understand and _know_ that there is nothing to worry about… not anymore."

"I love you so very much, sweetheart," he mutters, looking at her in utter awe, as if he still can't believe that she's real - or at least, that the two of them have gotten to this point together.

"I love you too," she whispers, their brief misunderstanding already forgotten when she gazes lovingly into his eyes, savoring the way they are bright and warm once more.

"I thought we were talking about kissing?" he remarks after they have stared at another for quite some time, all but lost in one another's eyes.

"Yes, and about getting more comfortable," she adds, almost having forgotten how they ended up in this situation in the first place.

"Ah, yes," he says, as if he can barely remember either. "You see, I was thinking… maybe we can sit like we used to? The way we sat when we kissed, I mean, when we… touched? We'll be certain then that my leg won't be in the way and it would be easier to reach for each other and to… well, to kiss and touch."

"Sounds perfect," she replies, thrilled that her husband seems to have considered the subject to this extent.

Belle is excited for a whole different reason as well when she helps her husband to sit up and lean back against the wall next to their bed. He may not look at her bare legs like she is certain he would have done in the past when she pulls up her nightgown, but that doesn't encourage her in the slightest, given the way his eyes are instead solely focused on her lips when she approaches him.

She trembles deliciously when she straddles his thighs and carefully settles herself in his lap, feeling him react exactly the same way to their renewed nearness.

"This is much better, isn't it?" he asks, the sudden rough edge to his voice making her yet more enthusiastic.

"Definitely," she murmurs, all her attention on his slightly parted lips.


	33. Chapter 33

No matter how much Belle longs to close the distance between her husband and herself to finally, _finally_ kiss him again after all, this time she doesn't give in to the urge to be the one to initiate that intimacy.

No matter how difficult it is not to lean forwards herself, she tells herself that a kiss between them would be sweeter yet if her husband were the one to start it. Yet more than the kiss itself, such an act of active intimacy would thoroughly convince her that the dark days of loneliness and misunderstanding are behind them for once and for all.

It seems like half an eternity passes in which Rumplestiltskin does nothing but scrutinize her face, his gaze dropping to her lips a few times but always returning to her eyes. Although there's a part of her that wishes that he would kiss her sooner rather than later, having missed that particular kind of contact between them so very much, she is mostly happy that he's looking at her at all.

Indeed, she shivers pleasantly under his intent gaze, loving the way his eyes are bright and warm once more. For him to simply look at her like this once more is something she could hardly have dreamed of until recently.

Still, Belle is undeniably, ardently longing to feel his lips on hers once more… to get another taste of the desperate, no longer forbidden passion which once consumed them when their tongues met and they eagerly explored one another with bold hands. That's why she's initially slightly disappointment when the focus of his gaze and the angle of his movements informs her that he's going to kiss her cheek rather than her mouth when he eventually leans into her after all.

But when her husband lingers with his mouth against her cheek and noisily exhales against her skin, trembling, she knows that it's a mere matter of time before they'll once more find the desire which once seemed so natural between them.

For now, she sits very still, her eyes fluttering closed when Rumplestiltskin remains right where he is, whispering softly to her.

"I love you, Belle. So very much. I feel like I can't tell you often enough."

"I love you very, very much as well," she whispers back, cupping his cheeks in her hands, her eyes still closed. "More than words can describe."

"Maybe we don't need only words for that," he breathes, pressing his lips against her cheek once more before shifting a little.

She sighs in utter contentment when he kisses her forehead next, lingering there for a while as well before pressing his mouth against her other cheek and - briefly, almost playfully - against the tip of her nose.

"My sweet, wonderful wife," he murmurs, reaching for her with his hands as well.

Belle meant to say something along the same lines of appreciation and devotion to him, but she finds that words fail her when he lovingly cups her face between his hands. He caresses her with callused but ever so careful and gentle thumbs, making her quiver in delight when he eventually brushes his fingertips along her lips, parting them slightly.

When he makes no move to further advance the renewed physical contact between them and lovingly looks at her instead, it dawns on her that he's wordlessly inviting her to explore him in the way he just did with her. Realizing that it's probably a very good thing that they're getting to know one another all over again so very carefully also in this regard instead of blindly rushing into their relationship like their less troubled selves did in a long gone past, she does just that.

Like in any other small and relatively chaste contact between them, Belle finds that there's seemingly unexpected delight to be found when she carefully kisses his face, lovingly pressing her mouth against his skin time and time again as she seeks out a slightly different spot for each kiss.

Her husband sighs deeply against her, their breath mingling as he never ceases to stroke his fingers lightly along her cheeks and jaws. Almost forgetting that she had been hoping for a kiss of a more intimate nature until mere moments ago, Belle happily loses herself in the act of sharing a considerably more platonic contact between them.

She presses her mouth lightly against his cheeks, his brows, his chin, his nose… anywhere but his mouth - for now at least. She's vaguely aware that they've never quite touched one another like this, that this act provides enjoyment in its own right.

It's not that she gets tired of kissing him like this - never that - but Belle decides to pursue a different approach when she feels his slightly stubbled jaw beneath her lips. He has started shaving again, his appearance once more as neat as it was before he was lost to his gloomy thoughts, but at this time of day his beard begins to form once more.

Belatedly realizing that she's never quite explored _this_ particular characteristic of her husband either, she focuses his attention on his jaws, chin and cheeks for a while. Smiling when he reverently whispers her name, she experimentally brushes her cheek against his, giggling a little at the scratchy feeling of it.

Rumplestiltskin lets out a quiet but still clearly audible groan at the contact, informing her that he finds particular joy in this kind of touch. Intrigued, she repeats the motion over and over again, smiling when he leans in to her touch in a way which reminds her a little of the kittens which roamed the courtyard of the castle in long gone days.

"You like this?" she asks, not knowing how else to find out why he appears to enjoy this type of touch so much.

"I very much do," he says, his reply little more than a low vibration against her cheek. "You're so warm, Belle, so _soft_ …"

Her husband trails off, but he has said plenty for her to understand. Wanting him to feel as much of her softness as possible in the current situation - and, well, very much wanting to feel more of him, too - she carefully moves closer to him.

When he doesn't tense or object verbally, when her husband in fact doesn't give her any sign whatsoever that he isn't comfortable with their increased nearness, she purposefully but ever so tentatively embraces him. It takes a long moment, but eventually he mirrors the gesture and pulls her against him, his movements as questioning as her own have been.

"This is wonderful," she tells him, instinctively twining her hand in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Very wonderful, yes," he replies, his words whispering against her skin while he rests his hands on her sides, stroking them lightly.

The close proximity between her mouth and his neck reminds her that their newfound nearness doesn't necessarily mean that she can't continue kissing him. He groans in approval when she experimentally puts her lips against a different part of his skin, marveling at the way he tightens his hold on her in a manner which seems to be entirely subconscious.

Encouraged by his clear approval, Belle kisses his neck enthusiastically, soon giving in to the urge to part her lips a little and seek out his skin with her tongue, eagerly sampling his slightly salty taste. His sounds of enjoyment become louder immediately, but she likes yet more that he returns her ministrations immediately.

Belle all but forgets that she wanted to feel his lips and tongue against her own only a short while ago now that they're kissing in a rather different way, caressing and licking one another's neck in a manner she had all but forgotten about.

Indeed, it may feel like it has been ages ago that he kissed her like this before, when they bathed together in the lake. But for the first time since he was injured in battle, it seems to her that they won't have to start all over again. Although their minds may think that they can't simply go back to the wonderful way their relationship used to be as if none of the awful events they shared actually happened, it appears that there's something deep inside their bodies that finds it surprisingly easy to go at least partially back to the way things were between them after all.

Straddling him the way she is, Belle can tell that not his _entire_ body reacts to her the way it once did, but for now she's more than delighted by the way he groans her name in unmistakable pleasure, clinging to her like she's the only person in the world who matters to him.

Between the two of them, he is the one who eventually withdraws, if only slightly so. Judging from the light in his eyes and the way he continues to hold on to her with both his hands, the reason he stopped kissing her neck has very little to do with making an end to their closeness and intimacy… quite the opposite.

"Belle, would you like me to…"

Her husband trails off again, but considering the way he looks at her lips, angles his head ever so slightly _and_ trembles in a manner very much like the way she is quivering herself, she knows exactly what he's referring to.

"Yes," she whispers, yet more excited about the much anticipated first, proper kiss between them as husband and wife than she previously thought she could be. " _Yes._ "

Although she would like it to be otherwise, she can't help but close her eyes when he smiles and leans in to her once more, his gaze solely focused on her lips the whole time. The pressure is minimal when he brushes his lips against her own in the most tender of kisses, but she barely notices, let alone cares.

Belle sighs against his lips right when he does the same, allowing her to sense yet more of him, which makes the kiss even better. None of them move for a considerable time, their mouths still only very lightly touching. She's thoroughly content to just sit like this for a while, to get somewhat used to the discovery that they can share this kind of togetherness again.

She is the one this time who breaks slightly away eventually, but only to kiss him back a little more firmly. Rumplestiltskin groans softly in response, pulling her tightly against him and tilting his head a little so their mouths can meet more easily.

Giddy with excitement, she parts her mouth a little, nibbling on his lower lip experimentally. This has her husband whimpering against her mouth, sending desire spreading throughout her… especially when he copies the gesture and actually goes as far as to very, very gently bite her lip.

Almost dizzy with the way her body and mind alike react to Rumplestiltskin now that they're finally touching one another like only a husband and a wife are supposed to, she moves a little away from him again far sooner than she would have liked.

"I need a moment to catch my breath," she explains, gasping while resting her forehead against his.

He holds on to her sides and she places her hands on his shoulders, wanting to maintain as much contact between them as possible.

"That's a very good idea," he agrees, giving her another small but bright smile.

There's something about the way he looks at her that gives her the distinct impression that he might as well have continued kissing her until he himself was utterly breathless. That doesn't make it any easier to lower either the rhythm of her breathing or that of her rapidly beating heart.

Never breaking their eye contact or losing their smiles entirely as one minute after the other passes gradually, both of them calm down eventually.

"Do you want to go to sleep, sweetheart?" he asks, making her realize only then that the time at which they usually turn in for the night has long since passed.

"No," she says, smiling in response to the hopeful, _far_ from tired look on his face. "Do you?"

"I don't want to go to sleep yet either," he says, smiling back at her while his gaze flickers back to her mouth.

Rather than telling him that she has the strong feeling that he wants to go on kissing as much as she does herself, Belle simply slants her lips over his once more.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating for the remainder of the story ;)

Belle opens the door to the bedroom quietly, slipping inside quickly with the same anticipation that has been part of her for the past week or so. Married life may not be what she expected it to be either a few years or a few months ago, but now that Rumplestiltskin continues to recover from both his physical and mental injuries, she very much enjoys it regardless.

It turns out that her husband is already in their room, fully focused on the documents which are spread out in front of him on their bed for the lack of other furniture in the ever so sober room. Seeing him still at work and knowing that he has found purpose in his life again, is infinitely better than any improvement on the admittedly small and sparsely decorated room they still share while the rest of the partially destroyed castle is slowly but surely restored to a glory it hasn't known for centuries.

Rumplestiltskin hasn't noticed her arrival and she takes the opportunity to study him quietly, a content smile on her lips. He looks better than he has done for a long time, perhaps as well as he has done in all the time she has known him. The happily ever after she dreamed of since she met him doesn't seem to be nearly as far out of reach as it was in the recent past.

In fact, she's increasingly convinced that it has begun already.

She almost giggles out loud when he frowns in a rather adorable manner in reaction to whatever he's reading. Adjusting her attention from her husband to his work for a moment, Belle concludes that he's working on the new defense tactics for the castle.

No matter how much she enjoys watching him like this, there's a lot of things she'd like to do yet more right now. That's why Belle clears her throat to alert him to her presence, savoring the way his eyes widen in surprise and then soften with affection when he finds her watching him.

"Making any progress?" she asks after a moment of delighted silence, nodding at the papers he seems to have forgotten about now that he is aware of her presence.

"Yes, yes," he says distractedly, his eyes still taking her in as if he, even after all this time, can't believe that this is really their life now - alive, safe, together. _Happy_.

Admittedly, neither can she.

The future of the castle, its lands and of course its people means the world to her and Belle will do all in her power to achieve the peace and prosperity which all of them could only dream of for far too long. Now that her work as a nurse isn't required any longer, the council has put her in charge of the shelter and education of the orphans who are flooding to the castle - and there's the new tax system to be considered.

But both her husband and she herself have just spent another long day reconsidering and revising just about everything in their lands. Crops, catapults, orphans and the treasury are the last thing on her mind right now.

Putting the pile of paper and books which she's carrying aside, Belle gratefully sits down on the bed next to her husband, briefly glancing at the existing maps and the ones he's drawing himself. She currently isn't interested in his proposal for the creation of new towers and catapults as such, but she's beyond thrilled that he's taken such an interest in it in the first place.

When she looks up again, Rumplestiltskin is staring at her with a loving, almost dreamy expression on his face. A pleasant shiver runs down her spine and she meets his gaze, smiling at him.

"No matter how much both of us enjoy it… do you think that we can skip the massage for tonight?" he asks, breaking the companionable, easy silence between them.

"I think so, yes," she replies, intrigued and far from deterred at his suggestion when his look becomes hopeful, almost intent. "Is there anything you have in mind for us to do before we go to sleep instead?"

"I do, in fact," he says, scooting towards her on the bed and quite hastily shoving the maps and documents out of his way. "If you are interested as well…"

"Oh yes," she whispers throatily, happily quivering in response to the look on his face as it proves the ever growing existence of the fire within him, the very one she feared to be entirely extinguished until recently.

It's hardly the first time that they kissed in the past few days, but it almost feels like it when he simply presses his lips to hers, as if that act hasn't been so utterly unlikely for months and months. Belle's breath catches in her throat at her husband's ministrations, his almost matter-of-fact movements adding further to her delight.

He places his hands on her waist with almost none of the awkwardness and uncertainty which characterized their relationship for so long. She reacts in kind, fisting at the back of his shirt when she kisses him back firmly.

A moment with her husband has never before been both this spontaneous and this… appropriate, now that they're actually married. She isn't considering that now though, not when she instinctively settles on her back and pulls Rumplestiltskin down on top of her.

They don't break their kiss for even a second, not even when he pulls up her skirt to settle himself between her spread thighs, encouraged by her helping hands both on the fabric between them and on his wonderfully warm and solid body.

Although he's cradled between her thighs and she eagerly locks her ankles behind his back, the ever so impossible man doesn't seem to be entirely aware of that. He's still kissing her enthusiastically without doing anything more than that, as if this is the most that a man and a woman in their position might do.

Then again, the feeling of his lips and tongue against hers is so wonderful that Belle almost forgets as well that they might do more than kiss each other now that they're together like this. Whenever they explored one another in the past few days, they always did so very, very carefully, as if even the smallest amount of hurry might hurl them back to the time when they didn't touch at all.

But this time, there's nothing tentative at all about the way they cling to one another and seek each other's nearness, almost as if to willingly drown in one another. She is breathless far sooner than she would like, and so is Rumplestiltskin. But rather than breaking away from her to breathe in some much needed air, he latches onto the side of her neck.

Being able to breathe - but only barely so, thanks to his continued attentions - Belle squeals in delight when he kisses and suckles on her skin, sending fire in the wake of his mouth. Soon, she is gasping, overwhelmed by what he is doing to her in the most wonderful way possible.

Tightening her hold on him, she returns the favor, losing herself in the smell and taste of her husband. She is no longer certain which of the countless moans and grunts they share in the process are his or hers, but it hardly matters that she can't determine the origin of the sounds she didn't consider either of them capable of making until now.

No matter how nice it is to explore his neck and throat like this, there's something she'd yet rather do when she isn't entirely out of air in her lungs any longer. Rumplestiltskin appears to have exactly the same desire as she has herself, their mouths meeting once more in the middle.

She hums happily when his soft lips part beneath hers, smiling into his mouth when he's eagerly allowing her to plunder him. It's better yet because he's lying on top of her, covering her body with his own as if he has never been injured at all, no space whatsoever left between their chests and their legs tangled.

The kiss and their embrace is everything she has hoped for... except for one thing. Even now, _especially_ now, Belle can't help but notice that there's one thing that's missing, one thing that certainly would have happened in the past… something she can no longer ignore.

Before she can consciously decide to break away from her husband so she can voice her confusion and concern, before his wonderful kisses leave her without any room to actually think at all, he moves away from her on his own accord.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, panting, looking at her with wide, slightly panicked eyes.

"There's nothing wrong, not with me at least," she reassures him as quickly as her breathy voice allows her, marveling once more at the way he picks up on her hesitation and doubt almost as quickly as she does herself.

"What is it?" he asks, moving off her to sit down at her side instead, mesmerizing her yet more by the way he once again forgets about what they were doing to fully focus on their conversation instead.

"I have been wondering…" she says vaguely, her mind still reeling with the effect of their kisses and touches.

"About what?" he prompts gently, one of his hands finding the curve of her waist to caress it ever so gently.

"About what you feel like when we get… excited," she replies, aware that she'd struggle to express her concern properly even if she weren't as light-headed as she is right now.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't feel like you did before," she soldiers on, willing him to understand her delicate description because she doesn't know how else to refer to his body's reaction - or lack thereof - without accidentally causing awkwardness or offense. "When we are together, when we kiss and touch like we just did, you don't get… ready. Not like earlier, like when we were in the lake together. I could _feel_ you then, but not anymore."

She can't help but glance at his groin, where there's no sign of the… presence she's seen and felt there, hot and _hard_ , before their lives changed for the worse. Belle didn't mean to look at him like that, but his eyes brighten with understanding and embarrassment alike when he follows her gaze and finally catches her meaning.

"It's not… it's not like before, no," he brings out, looking away from her as his cheeks color. "Do you… you mind, do you? It must be… wrong."

"I don't think there's such a thing as 'wrong' or 'right' in this, as long as we mutually approve of what we do together," she replies softly, taking his hand in her own. "And I certainly don't _mind_ , if only because… The thing is, I don't _understand_. I don't understand why it's not happening now, but I also don't understand why it happened before."

"I don't quite understand myself," he says, relaxing a little and looking at her from behind the curtain of his hair. "I do know that, before, my body reacted to you when we were together, and a bit when I only _thought_ of us being together. It just… happened. But now it doesn't, not anymore, and I don't know why."

"I'm certain we will find out," she says, squeezing his hand when he looks at her with utter misery, his eyes telling her how horrified he is of the mere notion of disappointing or even failing her even when he can't find the words or the courage to tell her verbally. "We're in this together, like we've always been."

"I know. I tend to keep forgetting that, but I _know_ ," he whispers, giving her a small but grateful smile. "It's just that I… I was almost glad… at first at least, because as soon as _it_ happens, which was almost all the time when we touched before, I could barely think at all… I could barely control myself. But I _have_ to be focused and hold myself back, because I might hurt you otherwise."

"Oh, Rumple," she sighs tenderly, once more utterly taken aback by his devotion to her. "You don't give yourself nearly enough credit. You would never hurt me. You're far too good and gentle for that. You've showed and proven that over and over again."

"I hope so," he says in a small voice. "But you tend to forget… I don't know how to be a husband, Belle. I don't know how to be a _lover_. I do gather that my body has to be… excited, as you put it, to fulfill my… marital duties to you."

"You silly man," she mutters fondly, pulling him into an embrace. "There are no _duties_ between us… we do only what we want to do and what we _can_ do. We find things out together, like we've been doing all along. I don't know how to be a wife either, remember? But I'd say we've been doing rather well together so far, wouldn't you?"

"I think we have, yeah," he replies, his smile widening.

"Well then, here we are."

"Hold me?" he softly requests, his eyes once more calm and content.

She nods, wrapping her arms around her husband and pulling him against her. Belle smiles when he does the same, happily cuddling against her.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Inkfire for the wonderful beta work.

Belle is in the middle of her report on the newly-built orphanage when she catches her husband's gaze. There's a heat in his eyes which takes her breath away and makes it considerably more challenging than usual to concentrate on convincing the men on her father's council of the rightness of her plans.

She has no idea whatsoever why Rumplestiltskin is looking at her like he can't wait to be back in bed with her, but she likes it very much despite the heavily distracting effects of it. She ignores his intent focus on her to the best of her abilities, at least until the other council members begrudgingly admit the success of her work.

There is some satisfaction to be found in the discovery that her husband himself is struggling with his own words when he informs the council of his new ideas for the defense of the castle. He too makes a point of not looking at her while he's talking, reminding her that she's as catastrophic to his concentration as he is to hers.

When one of the other council members begins to drone about the options for the new tax system, her attention shifts back to her husband. It's no surprise at all that he's looking at her once more, outright staring, causing heat of a not unpleasant kind to rise to her cheeks. The two of them may have gotten rather good at communicating without using any words, but right now she's at a loss.

The council meetings are usually not a favorite part of her day, for Belle is much keener on actually improving things than merely talking about options and possibilities. But never have the often long and exhausting meetings proven more tedious than this very morning, now that Rumplestiltskin is looking at her in a way he has never quite done before—not in public, at least.

She raises her eyebrows and gestures with her hands as subtly as she can in an attempt to find out what is going on, but all she achieves is causing his cheeks to color as well… and her father to look at her in confusion and disapproval when he catches her gaze.

Belle didn't imagine that there would be one single thing she would miss about the time when they were still at war with the Ogres. But now that there's no end in sight to the meeting and she's getting uncomfortably warm, she can't help but think that there was something to be said for the sheer chaos of that time, if only because everyone had better things to do than to keep an eye on her and the man she is so deeply in love with… the man she seems to desire yet more with each day and especially each night that passes.

Taking a deep breath and looking demurely at the notes in front of her, she of course utterly fails at thinking of anyone or anything other than Rumplestiltskin. She glances back at him after barely a minute has passed, finding that he has done exactly the same thing, his entire face flushed and his chest heaving.

It feels like half an eternity before her father finally closes the meeting and the council members take their leave from the room one by one. As soon as they're alone, they both stand up simultaneously and quickly make their way towards one another around the large, round table previously separating them.

"What has gotten into you, gorgeous husband?" she asks, barely recognizing the husky tone of her own voice as she reaches for his arm with trembling fingers.

That contact apparently isn't enough for him and she sighs happily when Rumplestiltskin pulls her against his chest, both his hands free since he left his staff near his chair in his haste to get to her.

"I was thinking about the past few nights… about _you_ , my impossibly beautiful wife," he rasps into her ear, stroking her back and hair with wonderfully confident but ever so slightly trembling hands. "I was also thinking about tonight, and the nights after that… about the things we might do together."

"Those thoughts sound rather pleasant," she murmurs into his tunic, her knees all but buckling at the implication of his words, at the fire that seems to have been awoken within him… by herself apparently, without her even realizing it.

"Indeed," he murmurs hoarsely, making her grin with excitement when he questioningly runs his hands down her rear.

"You have awoken similar thoughts within me," she whispers meaningfully, her hands boldly copying the movements of his.

He breaks away from her, just far enough to look at her face and capture her mouth with his own, kissing her more hungrily than he has done in a long time. Moaning in approval, Belle kisses him back eagerly, clutching at his shoulders as she's consumed by desire she hasn't known for a while indeed.

Her legs are ever so useless in the face of her husband's passion, but she doesn't need them right now to keep her standing, for Rumplestiltskin hoists her onto the council table as if she weighed nothing at all—indeed, as if he hadn't been so gravely injured until recently.

Her thoughts are floating with the pleasure he gives her when he clumsily pulls up her skirts to settle himself between her thighs, without interrupting their increasingly desperate kisses. _This_ is what she has been hoping for, what she has been _craving_ , this wild, erratic desire which once came so naturally to them, but appeared to be long gone once they were actually joined in marriage.

Now that he's this close to her and their passion is only fueled further, Belle first vaguely thinks that the hardness between their bodies is merely her imagination, a memory of a time when they didn't know each other as well as they do now, but giving in to their desire came a lot more easily to them.

But her husband groans into her mouth, deepening their kiss, bucking his hips into hers at the same time. It feels better yet than before, especially when she becomes aware of the hard length of which she'd almost forgotten the feeling, pressing insistently against the apex of her thighs.

In her enthusiasm, she pulls him roughly against her with her legs, moaning in response to the friction that move causes. _This_ is what she has been waiting for since his mental recovery, for him to feel again the way he did before both his body and mind were injured.

Rumplestiltskin has been so caught up in kissing and touching her that he wasn't aware of what happened to his body, but he certainly is now that she has pulled him against her like this. He looks at her, his eyes wide and dark and as heated as she's ever seen them, but keeps his lower half right where it is cradled by hers.

"I can't wait until tonight," she moans, glancing down his body before pressing her face against the increasingly slick skin of his neck.

"Neither can I, if you say things like that," he murmurs roughly, her answer turning into a gasp as he suckles none too gently on her shoulder, inching the fabric of her dress aside.

"The way I see it, we don't _have_ to wait… not if we don't want to."

"Sweetheart, what are you saying?!"

It's probably mainly her arousal talking, but it hardly seems to matter to Belle that they are in the council room—with her in fact sitting on its table—rather than in their bedroom, and that it isn't even the middle of the day yet, rather than late in the evening. The only thing that counts is that they're alone, for now at least, and that they desire each other as much as they've ever done.

"I'm saying that we've waited long enough as it is," she replies before crashing her lips against his once more.

Rumplestiltskin's reply is lost in their subsequent kiss, but she doesn't need any words to understand his meaning when his tongue eagerly seeks out hers once more. Especially not when he runs his hands all along her back and grunts in approval as she encourages him to move against her, sending sparks flying throughout her body.

"I want you so very much," she whispers in his ear, basking in the way her words appear to take away any last hesitation her husband might have had.

There's a flurry of movement and then his hands are on her bare hips beneath her dress, his thighs right between hers. Belle flushes deliciously at the wonderfulness of it. After all, it has never been like _this_ before for them and she can't _wait_ to find out what else might happen, what other new loveliness she might feel at her husband's hands… not to mention the rest of him.

"Belle, sweetheart, I don't know how… I don't know _how_ we are supposed to..."

"Me neither," she gasps, strongly suspecting that there's yet more to be discovered than the heat they currently share upon moving like this together, but barely able to believe that anything can be yet _more_ than this. "Let's just... let's just not stop this time."

Once more, he doesn't respond to her suggestion, but the way he clings to her while simultaneously rocking his hips strongly into hers is all the answer she needs. Almost dizzy with the desire coursing through her and glad that she doesn't have to stand, Belle closes her eyes and urges him on with her entire body, shuddering each and every time he rubs himself against her.

Whereas she's thoroughly enjoying the moment, she can tell that Rumplestiltskin is doing so yet more. At his almost frantically moving against her and whimpering her name, she can see that he's nearing the pleasure men are said to find with their wives—or any women they bed, apparently.

Intrigued and aroused alike, she tightens her hold on her husband's buttocks, helping him move against her each and every time. His muscles clenching under her palms, her eyes flutter closed while the heat inside of herself increases as well. Not for the first time since the two of them got to know each other, she wonders whether there might be joy to be found in this kind of union for a woman too, after all.

Gasping as well now and starting to cling to him for something to hold onto rather than for encouragement, she's oblivious to everything and everyone but her husband and the way he is making her feel.

Until, at least, there's the unmistakable sound of a book falling to the floor. No matter how much her very distracted subconscious would like to think that said book was shoved off the council table by her and her husband's activities, there's no denying that the sound came from too far away to originate from where she very, very much wants it to.

Rumplestiltskin hasn't heard anything and happily continues his efforts, but her eyes fly open to identify the sound… only to find her father staring at her from the doorway, the book he must have dropped still lying at his feet.

Just like that, Belle is _very_ much aware that she has never been closer to being taken by her husband—that she still is, in fact—in the _council room_ of all places, and that her father has all but caught them in the act.

Daughter and father alike freeze in terror, but her oblivious husband has his back towards the other man and continues to move against her, his sounds of pleasure and affection echoing horribly loudly in the large room.

"Stop!" she mutters urgently, shoving him off her. "Rumple, _stop!_ "

Rumplestiltskin does as she says immediately, his eyes dark and confused.

"Did I do something wrong, sweetheart?" he asks, lightly stroking her arms and looking at her with concern. "Have I hurt you or made you uncomfortable?"

"No, not at all!" she cries out, horrified that he would think that—and that there's once again something between them and their desire for each other. "It's just that…"

Her father clears his throat at that very moment, finally drawing Rumplestiltskin's attention to his presence as well. Her husband turns his head towards the sound and if it weren't for the situation, it would be comical how his eyes widen and his face becomes just as red as her own.

"I left my notes of this morning's meetings here, and I came back to collect them once I realized," her father says weakly, not quite looking at them and gesturing in the vague direction of the table which the two of them are still occupying.

Peering over her husband's shoulder, she doesn't even know what she might say to explain any of this to her father. It isn't helping that Rumplestiltskin is still standing with his back towards the other man.

Aiming to remedy at least the latter, Belle urges him to turn around with gentle hands. This is her _father_ after all, technically still his lord. She can't imagine that he has forgotten that, but the knight remains right where he is, looking yet more horrified when he meets her eyes again.

Only when he meaningfully glances downwards, his cheeks positively flaming, does she understand why he hasn't moved so far…and that she has in fact felt all along the reason causing him to remain right where he is.

Belle deftly hops off the table and goes to stand in front of him, all the while shielding his disheveled and still rather excited shape from her father's gaze. Despite the tension, this isn't all that difficult, especially since he is still looking everywhere but at his daughter and her husband.

Instinctively taking Rumplestiltskin's hand in her own, she attempts to momentarily forget about what they just shared. Instead, she tries to think of something to say to her father… or to find a way to speak again at all, really.

But before she can find any words, or even locate the papers that have caused this mess in the first place, it turns out that it isn't necessary any longer.

"Never mind my notes, I'll come back for them later, at a… better time," her father says tensely, before all but running out of the room.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Inkfire for the wonderful beta work.

Hand in hand, Belle and Rumplestiltskin make their way to their bedroom more quickly than she could have imagined until a few minutes ago. Even as they hurry back to the only place in the castle which they have all to themselves—or rather, to the bed in that particular room—she marvels at the speed at which her husband follows her.

There is no time to consider the fact that the man who could barely move at all in the recent past is now rushing almost as rapidly as she is herself. Indeed, she doesn't _want_ to think about it, not anymore, not when they giddily burst into their room, never letting go of one another's hand.

It may have felt like it took half an eternity, but now their duties for the day are over _at last._ No matter how eager she was to escape with her husband to their bedroom as soon as the last council meeting was finished, there was one pragmatic matter to take care of first.

Despite knowing very well that they were going to need their strength and energy for what they're both desperate to do, dinner with her father and all his advisors has been a long and tedious affair. But now they are _free_ , slamming and locking the door of the room behind them, finally able to lose themselves in one another.

Belle sighs in relief when they are finally alone, especially since her husband doesn't lose any more time. The sigh turns into an eager moan when he presses her up against the door, looking at her face for confirmation before he slants his mouth over hers.

His walking stick falls to the floor, forgotten, when Rumplestiltskin pins her against the wood behind her, hoisting her up by locking his hands behind her thighs. Between the two of them, they manage to bunch up the fabric of the lower half of her dress without breaking the kiss, enabling him to hold her in place with his hips while keeping his hands free for more interesting pursuits.

She practically mewls in delight when he caresses her sides and back, twining her hands in his hair to urge him on while she kisses him back for all she is worth. Her eyes tightly closed, she loses herself in the taste of him, by now familiar but at the same time as exhilarating as it was at the very beginning.

In the back of her mind wondering whether this is the night when they are finally going to be joined in marriage in the carnal sense of the words, Belle savors the exquisiteness of being ravished by her husband like this. She'd be happy to once more share no more with him than such utterly thrilling kisses and touches, but she's more ready than she has ever been to accept him as her husband in the final sense at last.

"I want you so much, Belle," he groans into her ear, making her only more eager to be taken by him.

"I want you, too," she brings out, "very, _very_ much."

Her last words are more of a squeak than anything else, for he chooses that particular moment to take her earlobe into his mouth, lightly biting down on it. But there is no doubt in her mind that he has understood her perfectly.

Rumplestiltskin moves against her, grinding his hips into hers, and she gasps at the sensations he causes that way. She is entirely caught up in what he's doing to her, only realizing that he isn't carried away to the same extent when he abruptly breaks away from her.

"I'm sorry," he rasps, lowering her carefully back to the ground.

"Why are you…"

Belle knows the answer to her question before she can voice it, his body telling her exactly what has happened… or rather, what has not happened—again.

"I thought it would be all right this time," he says, stepping away from her while gesturing down himself. "I thought… I thought I wouldn't _disappoint_ you this time. My body reacted to you the way it should this morning, and I really thought that…"

"We've talked about this before," she replies, extending her hand to him. "I don't want you to worry about this."

"I know," he sighs miserably, taking her hand to her relief.

Together, they make their way towards the bed, not nearly as quickly and easily as they moved earlier.

"But even if I didn't disappoint _you_ , I… I suppose I disappointed myself. I very, very much want to be with you, just like I know you want to be with me. But this morning, when I was… ready… I wasn't relieved. I didn't even _realize…_ what we did, it felt so good, it was all I could think about. I wanted that again, more than anything… for both of us."

"I'm sure we will, eventually," she reassures him, her heart aching because he seems to be mostly upset for _her_ sake. "There's no point in worrying about it, so I think we should try not to."

"I have been thinking about it all day," he says, nodding in agreement and looking at her sheepishly, his cheeks coloring. "There wasn't a single minute in which I didn't imagine… in which I didn't wonder about…"

"It was like that for me as well," she says, rather proud that the two of them managed to get through the day without losing control in front of others once more.

"I'm also sorry about what happened this morning, Belle," he says, his shoulders sagging as he refers to the moment when her father caught them all but making love on the great table in the council room. "Your father… I had no idea he would come back and see us, but I should have realized…"

"Don't be sorry for that," she says, at this point marveling at the fact that this man is such an accomplished knight, yet didn't hear her father loudly approaching him because he was entirely lost in their embrace. "I didn't hear him either. No matter how embarrassing this was, it's no more than that. There's no harm done."

"I'm glad," Rumplestiltskin says, visibly relaxing.

"Besides, father has no right to complain even if he wanted to. He was the one who knew about this marriage before I did, who wanted us to be wed in the first place! If anything, he should be happy that our relationship has turned out the way it has."

"Indeed," he mutters, smiling at her—but only for a moment. "He'll want an heir. An heir _of_ his heir, I mean."

"What my father wants and doesn't want isn't important right now," she says softly, reaching for Rumplestiltskin when she realizes that they're still standing right next to the door of their room. "Come sit with me?"

To her relief, her husband takes her hand and lets her guide him to the bed, where they sit down next to one another. It isn't quite how Belle expected this evening to go, but at least he looks at ease again… and the evening isn't over yet, far from it.

"I want to kiss you again," she whispers, marveling at the fact that she can state her wishes and desires so straightforwardly.

"I want to kiss you, too," he breathes, to her delight sounding as enthusiastic as she is herself.

Before Rumplestiltskin has finished speaking, he's leaning into her again, his last words brushing her lips before they are covered by his own. She sighs happily when he kisses her, slowly and thoroughly, and she returns those sentiments for all she is worth.

Soon, she has all but forgotten about the awkward moment with her father this morning, just like his frustration and disappointment from only moments ago is practically gone. Given the way he gasps and groans softly into her mouth, his hands continually stroking up and down her sides, Rumplestiltskin feels exactly the same way.

For once unburdened by propriety _and_ their earlier desperate desire for one another, they gradually lie down on the bed, facing each other without breaking their kiss for even the briefest of moments, curious hands carrying on their activities without the slightest change.

As their quiet togetherness, for once, remains undisturbed indeed, her touches become bolder. She is perfectly happy to keep their kisses away from the border of the all-consuming heat they found whenever they lost control before, but she eagerly takes this chance to explore more of the rest of him.

Belle questioningly inches her fingertips underneath his shirt, smiling into their kiss when he hums in approval. Her palm is next, eagerly sliding over his lower back to take in the warmth of his skin and the roughness left there by a variety of scars.

Encouraged by his reaction and the fluttering in her stomach, she continues her exploration, making her way to the front of his body. Intrigued by the way his muscles clench underneath her palm, she touches him more firmly, only to find that his shirt severely restricts her movements.

"It might be easier if you just took it off," he says when he breaks their kiss, his voice wonderfully low.

"I quite agree," she murmurs, delighted by how easily this comes to both of them now.

They pull his shirt over his head together, leaving his chest bare when they throw the worn fabric to the other side of the bed. Her husband lies down on his back right in front of her, looking expectantly at her, clearly eagerly awaiting her to familiarize herself with him at her convenience.

Her lower lip caught between her teeth, Belle experimentally runs her fingertips down his torso, all the way from right below his throat to the edge of his breeches. She loves each and every part of this journey through previously utterly forbidden territory, discovering new things about her husband's body with each new inch she touches.

She already figured out before that his nipples are very sensitive, but the true extent of it is revealed to her only now, when even the lightest scratch of her nails there has him gasping and pushing himself more firmly towards her. But there's a lot, lot more to explore.

Just about every part of him she slides her curious fingers over has him gasping or sighing eagerly, never taking his intent eyes off her and barely even blinking. She barely notices though, especially because she can now not only feel the muscles in his abdomen clench when she touches them, but see them as well.

But more than anything, she is mesmerized by the trail of dark hair which is leading downwards from his belly button. She devotes more of her considerable attention to it than anything else, much to her husband's delight, given the way his breath quickens and his eyes darken.

She inches her fingertips underneath the edge of his breeches, knowing that there's no longer any reason for them _not_ to do anything like this any longer. Rumplestiltskin nods breathlessly in response. Glancing lower, to where she wants to touch him eventually, she finds no evidence yet of the presence she's very much felt there at different occasions.

Still, she isn't deterred in the slightest. If anything, it might be a good thing to get to know one another like this in a somewhat rational and controlled fashion. Even now, the mere thought of touching her husband _there_ makes her yet more flushed than she already is.

"If you want to, you can..."

Rumplestiltskin falters after those few words, but the way he glances down his body, at her hand which is resting low on his belly, tells her that he wants the same thing as her—and that he wants it just as much, if not more so.

Now that this moment has finally arrived, almost unexpectedly so, the notion of simply sticking her hand down his breeches to find out what's there seems rather intimidating. So instead, she rests her hand on his upper thigh and the warm fabric that covers it, sliding it upwards slowly but surely.

He nods firmly, encouraging her, both their chests heaving when she brushes her fingertips against a shape beneath the fabric separating their skin. It doesn't quite feel like it did before and although she doesn't know what causes the difference, she's pleased that her touch brings him pleasure regardless.

Her husband's groan becomes louder when she traces the outline of him more firmly, emboldened by his reaction to her, especially when he closes his eyes and gasps her name. She wonders at the difference between now and other times she... encountered him, now that she purposefully touches him like this for the very first time—especially when there's an unmistakeable twitch beneath her palm.

His eyes fly open, boring into hers with a desire that becomes almost tangible when she experimentally cups him in her palm. Just like that, it seems utterly ridiculous that there's fabric between their skin.

This time, his groan is one of disappointment as she withdraws from him—only to reach for the fastenings of his breeches instead in unspoken invitation.

"Let's just see what will happen?" she suggests, eager to continue but needing to be absolutely certain that her husband feels the same way.

Rumplestiltskin nods furiously, encouraging her to start undressing him completely for the very first time.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Inkfire for the wonderful beta work.

For years, Belle has dreaded the mere thought of the marital bed. Almost since the very moment she was old enough to be told about her duties to her husband, she believed that the physical aspects of her relationship would be yet more unpleasant than the other parts of her life being tied to a man not of her choosing.

Her father may have chosen Rumplestiltskin as her husband, but she likes to think that she chose him at least as much. The fact that the humble knight, probably unlike so many other men, gave her that opportunity in the first place is one of the many reasons why she has now become so very eager to explore the marital bed with him.

Right now, however, while removing the last clothing from her husband's body, Belle doesn't care all that much whether they'll get to share more than this together in the near future. She would still _very_ _much_ like to find out how it would feel for them to be joined physically in the most intimate sense, but at the same time she is thoroughly happy to merely explore him and experience more of the wonderful kisses and caresses they shared before.

Pulling the last layer of fabric down his legs, all she can do is stare in wonder and admiration now that she beholds the naked form of her husband for the very first time. Somehow, his arousal appears to be more prominent now than it felt before she undressed him.

Only when there comes a small, somewhat distressed sound from him does she break her gaze away and focus her attention on his face instead. His eyes are almost anxious, and it dawns on her that she has been staring at his entirely naked form for quite some time without doing or saying anything.

"My beautiful, _beautiful_ husband," she murmurs happily, wanting to reassure him and—almost just as much—inflame him further.

He looks somewhat disbelieving in response to her heart-felt praise, but he smiles tentatively at her and returns the kiss that she initiates, for a moment wanting nothing more than to reconnect with her husband in a by now familiar way.

"Can I touch you?" she breathes against his lips, almost giddy in her excitement, her hand trailing up and down his inner thigh, leaving no question whatsoever what she's referring to.

He nods eagerly, his eyes focusing on her hand as it reaches for the increasingly noticeable part of his anatomy. No matter how tempting that sight is, Belle chooses to remain looking at his face instead, a moan escaping her at his mere expression when her fingers brush against his exposed manhood for the very first time.

It's immediately clear to her that she has found something he enjoys very, _very_ much. But even that realization doesn't prepare her for the yelp he lets out and the tension that goes through him like lightning when she instinctively takes his length in hand.

"Does that hurt?!" she cries out, horrified that she has done something wrong in her inexperience.

"Please… _please_ do that again," he brings out, panting.

If anything, his face looks like he's in pain, but his voice is urgent to the extent that Belle grasps him once more, as gently as she can, watching in fascination the way he moves against her hand as if seeking more friction.

Yet more intrigued but ever so careful, she slightly tightens her grasp on him and strokes him experimentally. Her mouth falls open when he groans loudly in response, his hips bucking into her touch.

It's like Rumplestiltskin comes to life beneath her very hands, his flesh hardening after all—very much so. She isn't looking at his face any longer, especially when she finds out that there is much more of him that she could touch than the most obvious part—areas which leave him grunting and writhing almost just as much.

Her own breathing quickening as well, there's a heat and a dampness of sorts between her legs. It's not the first time she's felt like this while with him, but the feeling has never been this insistent, all but begging her to do something about it.

She doesn't quite know how _she_ might find a way to end this sweet ache, but at least in her husband's case, Belle can feel that this is leading to _something_. Although she doesn't know to what exactly—if only because there wasn't anything remotely like _this_ in any of her expectations of the marital bed—it's clear that her husband is very, very much enjoying this.

That's why she's thoroughly surprised when he rests his hand on her wrist, stopping her ministrations. His eyes are open once more when she glances back to his face, not understanding.

"Can I feel all of you?" he asks, his voice so rough that she can barely make out the words.

"What do you mean?"

His question confuses her yet more, especially since he doesn't appear to request the only thing she would expect at this point, namely to take her as his wife once and for all.

Rather than to reply, he sits up and hesitantly gestures for her to lie down on her back. She complies, more curious than anything else, especially since he makes no move to free her from the dress she's still wearing.

Once she's lying down comfortably, Rumplestiltskin slowly moves on top of her, giving her every opportunity to stop him. Doing so, however, is the last thing she wants, her excitement growing yet further when he approaches her like this. A glance between their bodies tells her that he's still quite delighted by the proceedings as well.

"I'd really like to feel you," he says, looking intently and ever so hopefully at her, telling her without words that, as always, the choice is entirely hers.

"I'd like that as well," she replies, beginning to understand that he can probably find the same pleasure as before when he's with her like this, their bodies touching to a much greater extent and offering even more closeness than they shared a moment ago.

"Can I…" he requests, his hand resting at the hem of her skirt.

Belle nods enthusiastically, thinking that this is the moment he is going to undress her after all… and yet he pulls the fabric up no more than the extent required for him to settle himself between her still spread thighs.

"Do you want me to touch you again?" she asks, still not understanding.

"I don't think so," he pants, experimentally positioning his elbows on either side of her face.

When Rumplestiltskin carefully settles himself on top of her, looking at her questioningly, she suddenly understands very well what he is aiming for.

"Yes!" she cries out, wanting him to know as quickly as possible that she wants this just as much as he does.

Resting his forehead against hers, his eyes fluttering closed, he thrusts his hips against her. The movement sends heat throughout her and draws a low moan from her lips. He grunts loudly in reaction, repeating the action immediately, much to their mutual delight.

She supposes that actually being claimed by him as his wife requires a whole lot less clothing and contact of a yet more intimate nature. But the two of them have always found their own way, and it only seems right to continue on that path. Besides, she _really_ likes where this is going.

Belle instinctively wraps her legs around his waist and locks her ankles behind his back, wordlessly urging him on. He is yet more snugly pressed against her like this, and she shivers deliciously at the way his hardness rubs along the center of her arousal through the last layer of fabric she's still wearing.

This time, there are no interruptions whatsoever and she gets yet more excited at the growing knowledge that this is _it_ , that her husband and she finally have a moment all to themselves to find out exactly where their passion might take them. Something inside of her is _throbbing_ , as if her body wordlessly answered to his, while at the same time asking for something she can't quite define.

Burying his head in the crook between her neck and shoulder, her husband's movements become more rapid and urgent, losing some of the friction that she herself enjoys so very much. It hardly matters, given the way he clings to her and all but whimpers her name.

"Something… something is _coming_ , sweetheart," he brings out, the words barely audible.

"I think _we_ are about to," she mutters, bits of conversations between servants she accidentally heard throughout the years making a lot more sense in that very moment.

"What… what do you mean?"

It is… _thrilling_ , in a way, to know slightly more about this than he does, in the situation where she had previously always expected and feared to be dominated by her future husband in each and every way. Before she can actually try to formulate a response, he seems to have forgotten his earlier line of thought altogether, his rhythm becoming frantic.

"Let's go on, just like this," she says instead, feeling that some of his urgency is spreading to her as well.

"What about you?!" he rasps between groans, "is this… enough?"

"I don't think so," she says, the ache between her legs no longer becoming more insistent.

She recalls that one, blissful moment in which his fingers had pressed against her cotton-clad desire, by now so long ago that she has almost forgotten what it felt like—except for the fact that the more precise and firm pressure is perhaps exactly what she needs.

"Belle, I… I truly want to find out what you need," he brings out, briefly pushing himself up on his arms to meet her gaze, his face flushed and his eyes darker than she has ever seen them, "but I don't think I can, unless we stop right now."

"I don't want to stop," she smiles at him, tightening her hold on him.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. All this time that I couldn't… function, the least I could have done is to focus on _you_ , to try to find out how…"

"How about we go on as long as you need, and then focus on finding out what I need?"

Choosing the answer for him, Belle yanks him firmly against her. He growls lowly as he continues the movements of his own accord, informing her that he has been wholly persuaded even as he pushes his face against the side of her neck, his expression no longer visible.

Closing her eyes and clutching at his shoulders, she savors the way her husband rocks himself against her with abandon. The heat between her thighs is still very much there, now fueled by the conviction that whatever is happening within his body exactly, it is coming to an end.

Bringing out her name in an almost desperate manner, Rumplestiltskin thrusts against her one more time, more powerfully than ever, before he appears to become almost entirely taut. All but whimpering against her slick skin, his hips jerk between her own one more time before he collapses on top of her.

Marveling at what just happened, at the curious dampness where he is cradled between her thighs, she affectionately caresses his hair and shoulders, muttering words of love to him.

It takes quite a while before he rouses himself again. It would have worried her if he hadn't almost immediately begun pressing reverent kisses against her neck even while barely moving, muttering her name in utter awe over and over again. Eventually, Rumplestiltskin settles himself on his arms to meet her gaze, his expression softer and more relaxed than she has ever seen it.

He smiles at her with such love and affection that it almost brings tears to her eyes, his fingers impossibly tender when he brushes a damp curl from her flushed face. She beams at him, a giggle of excitement and joy escaping her.

"Good?" she inquires, reaching for the side of his face with both hands.

" _Incredible_ ," he whispers, smiling back at her.

"Good," she states, barely able to believe that they have _finally_ come to this point.

"Shall we try to… to make you feel good as well?" he inquires, almost shy once more as he glances down between their bodies.

"I'd love that," she breathes, having momentarily forgotten that their explorations are far from over yet.

"Let's start by taking that off?" he murmurs, still timid, while gesturing at the dress she forgot she's still wearing.

As soon as she has nodded her agreement, he eagerly reaches for its hem. She joins his efforts just as happily, beyond eager to find out what else they might discover about their bodies in their marital bed.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Inkfire for the wonderful beta work.

Belle has never felt as good as she does when she wakes up that morning, her body still floating on what might as well be a cloud of bliss, caused by the pleasure she has known with her husband before both of them fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep.

No matter how much joy the two of them had already found when exploring their physical desire for one another, that paled in comparison to what they discovered once they were finally naked in bed, together, mapping one another's body with very eager eyes and, eventually, yet more enthusiastic hands.

Now they're lying here together, rested from their exertions, and all Belle can think of is to start said very, _very_ enjoyable efforts again—especially now that the man who made her feel yet better than he'd already proven over and over that he could is lying right behind her, still as undressed as she is herself.

With his bare skin pressing directly and hotly against her own, she can feel that his body wants her again as well, even if his deep and even breathing tells her that Rumplestiltskin is still asleep, his mind oblivious to either their intimate nearness or the pleasure they have shared.

When they fell asleep last night with her back against his front, she had no idea that she would wake up to _this_ , his hand flung over her side lightly cupping her breast and his manhood expressing almost the same interest as it did before.

Feeling giddy and daring, brazen almost, arousal shimmers within her veins once more. Grinning into her pillow, she experimentally rubs herself against her husband. Her efforts are rewarded immediately with a none too quiet groan from him, and she lets out a moan herself when he tightens his hold on her breast.

However, Rumplestiltskin doesn't appear to have actually woken and, convinced that there's no way he'd rather have his sleep ended, she repeats the motions of her body, more firmly this time. He does wake up then, her name on his lips in surprised wonder.

"Good morning, husband," she whispers huskily, purposefully grinding herself against him once more.

"Good morning, sweetheart," comes his reply after a moment, his words little more than low rasps.

"I was thinking about tonight," she adds, grabbing his hand to press it more firmly against her breast.

"I was dreaming about it," he replies, kissing the side of her neck, "and now I'm thinking about it, too."

"Are you only _thinking_ about it?" Belle purrs, letting go of his hand in favor of reaching for his hips to press them more firmly against hers. "How utterly disappointing."

"Sweetheart, do you want to…"

" _Yes_ , I want you to touch me again like you did last night," she breathes, delighted if a little exasperated that her husband has at this point in their relationship become yet more insistent on only proceeding with his actions with her explicit encouragement.

Once convinced that she wants this as much as he clearly does himself, Rumplestiltskin wastes no time whatsoever in trailing his hand down her body until he has reached the apex of her thighs. He groans right along with her when he finds the wetness that has been gathering there since the minute she woke up in her husband's arms.

Now that they're lying down like this, she finds that it's yet easier for them to move together and find the friction that leads to the delicious heat between them, their bodies pressed against one another almost from head to toe. She eagerly takes advantage of that, making certain to keep herself rocking backwards into him even as his fingers rediscover the patterns and speed which brought her such pleasure earlier.

His touches may have been experimental and not always entirely effective last night, when this was entirely new for both of them. But right now… she doesn't know how he does it, how he has gotten to know her body better than she does herself, but each and every caress of his deft fingers has her spiralling higher and higher.

"Yes, Rumplestiltskin, _yes_ ," she brings out, her eyes tightly shut as she is once more almost entirely overcome by pleasure. Still, she's far from oblivious to the fact that she isn't the only one who is currently on this path, that this is the first time they are striving for their release simultaneously. "Are you also…"

"Yes, sweetheart," he grunts against her neck, further increasing his ministrations.

"Are you also almost…"

" _Yes_."

Speaking becomes impossible, but there's no more reason for it when she senses the movements of his body becoming frantic, almost helpless, while he never ceases providing the stimulation which she requires.

It's only a short while longer until one last flicker of his fingers has her crying out for him, every muscle in her body going taut as she arches into him, pleasure yet more all-consuming than before washing over her.

Almost at the same time, he whimpers her name against her slick skin, clinging to her as he shunts against her, the curious wetness that came from him the night before hotly coating her backside as his movements eventually cease.

Belle sighs happily as she gradually comes down to herself, covering her husband's hand with her own once more when he places it over her still rapidly beating heart. They lie together in their bed, lazily recovering from the pleasure that shook them, the aftermath of it leaving her whole body tingling and trembling every once in a while.

"Good morning, sweet wife," he whispers again at length, tenderly kissing her still sweaty neck.

"Good morning, handsome husband," she replies, giggling happily when he _keeps_ kissing her neck. "Or maybe I should say _very_ good morning. I never… I never had a morning nearly as good as this one."

"Neither did I," he murmurs lovingly against her skin, nuzzling her.

In a moment of clarity beyond the bubble of love that doesn't extend past their bedroom, it dawns on Belle that it in fact _is_ morning—and that it has been so for a considerable time, if the sunlight streaming into the room is any indication.

"We have to get up!" she cries out, sitting up so abruptly that she accidentally bumps her shoulder against his chin.

"What is it?" he asks, looking at her with bewilderment. "Did I do something wrong, sweetheart?!"

"No, not at all," she hastily replies, despite the rush of the moment appreciating the discovery that the always so knowing and conscious knight has lost all awareness of the world beyond the two of them. "Everything you did was _amazing_. But it's late! I don't think it's nearly noon yet, but we definitely should be at the council meeting now—we've missed breakfast with my father altogether!"

They are very lucky that no one has come looking for them, finding them in such a private, probably scandalous state—or at least, not _yet_.

Rumplestiltskin looks outside, at the sun that's making its way ever higher up the horizon, and his gaze meets hers again when he realizes at last what she's talking about.

"We should join the council meeting as soon as possible," he agrees, sitting up as quickly as his body allows him, causing the sheet to pool down his chest and the bright sunlight to reach his still pale skin.

Belle doesn't notice that however, getting out of bed to gather her clothing from wherever her husband and she left it the previous night. That proves a considerable challenge, especially when she glances over to the bed in the hope of retrieving her underskirt from there, only to find her husband looking at her with wide, admiring eyes.

"Are you enjoying the view?" she asks, any self-consciousness she might have felt now that Rumplestiltskin sees her completely unclothed in broad daylight for the first time disappearing immediately in response to the sheer awe written all over his face.

"You are so, _so_ beautiful," he breathes, his eyes lingering on her chest as he swallows heavily.

"So are you," she whispers, entirely forgetting about their duties once more when she too takes in shameless eyefuls of his bare torso.

"We… we should go," he says, even as his gaze is still fixed on her.

"Yes," she says, equally distracted.

Rumplestiltskin is the first one to eventually snap out of their dreamlike distraction, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"We should wash ourselves," he says, gesturing at both their bodies.

She nods in agreement, vividly recalling the stickiness of last night—and this morning, for that matter. She knows only too well what will happen—or rather, what will _not_ happen—if the two of them watch one another while cleaning up, so she pointedly turns her back on her husband after she has grabbed a washcloth, the bar of soap and the bowl of cold water from the other side of the room.

Similarly, she resists the temptation to look at her husband as he too washes himself to the best of their limited possibilities once she is finished doing so, focusing on getting her clothes back on instead. At least the chilliness of the air persuades her to hurry, the coldness catching up with her once more now that she's no longer in his embrace.

A few minutes later, they're all in all as presentable as they can possibly be, although they're yet later than they already were.

"Why don't you go ahead to inform the council that I'll be joining you soon?" he suggests with a hint of redness on his cheeks.

"I shall," she replies, not bothering to tell him that there's no point in arriving separately; although she rationally knows that there's no way people can _see_ what the two of them have done tonight, that their marriage is finally consummated after all—and very happily so—she has the feeling that it will take her father and the other members of the council one single glance to understand exactly why Rumplestiltskin and she are so late today.

Still, she knows very well that her husband can't walk nearly as fast as she can any more, and that the way to the great hall will feel yet longer for him if she's with him, clearly having to hold back her own speed to allow him to keep up with her.

"I'll tell my father that you are on your way," she says, managing to ignore the urge to kiss him one final time for now, knowing only too well that she wouldn't be able to get away from him for a considerable time if she were to feel his lips against hers again.

She rapidly makes her way to the great hall, where the breakfast tables have by now without a doubt already been exchanged for the single, considerably smaller table around which her father and his council gather every day. Intending to think of anything and everything but what Rumplestiltskin and she were doing until very recently, she tries to compose herself as she rushes down the stairs.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Inkfire for the wonderful beta work.

Belle is out of air by the time she reaches the great hall, never having covered the distance between her bedroom and the center of her father's castle as quickly as she does now that she and her husband forgot all about their duties and responsibilities due to the pleasure they found together in their marital bed.

"Papa!" she exclaims when she spots her father at the head of the table, without any sign of the other council members.

Apparently they're too late for the council meeting as well.

"Belle," he greets her in turn, his expression unreadable, but a small smile on his lips when he looks at her.

"I'm sorry I'm so late, papa," she says quickly. "Rumplestiltskin and I were…"

She pauses, realizing for the first time that they will actually have to come up with an excuse for their lateness now that she has at least made it to the great hall _._

"We overslept," she continues as neutrally as she can, telling herself that that is, strictly speaking, true—or at least for the most part. "Rumplestiltskin will be here as well soon."

"That's no problem at all," her father says good-naturedly, waving his hand as to actually set her concerns aside. "I think it's remarkable how well the two of you have combined your duties with your… personal lives, considering..."

He shakes his head as if to dismiss such thoughts, much to Belle's inward relief. She doesn't want to even ask herself to what extent her father has any idea about how things have changed between her husband and herself—about how, indeed, they have been close to one another in a variety of ways long before they were even officially engaged.

"Let us not speak of such things," he says, making her hope for a brief moment that this is the end of their discussion. "Although it reminds me…"

All hope that he will easily let them get away with their tardiness is forgotten when her father looks pensively at her.

"Your husband and you… you haven't gotten the chance to spend much time together, have you? If there's anyone who's spending almost all their time making certain that this castle and its lands will become prosperous, safe and happy again, it's the two of you."

He looks more closely at her, beyond her tousled hair and crumpled clothing. It makes Belle feel like her father is truly seeing her again for the first time in many months, if not years.

"I know I don't always understand you, my daughter. I probably don't understand you nearly as well as I should. But this… I don't know what has changed between your husband and you, but I can clearly see that something _has_. Something in your marriage has changed for the better."

He pauses for a moment, scrutinizing her.

"Are you happy, Belle?"

"I am," she says determinedly after a moment of hesitation, not having expected her father to ask her anything along those lines. "I am very happy."

"Your husband, Sir Rumplestiltskin… he is good to you?"

"He is very good to me, father. Very good. He has been from the moment we met. The months after his injury were difficult, for both of us, but he has fully recovered from that now. We are very happy again. He is everything I could have dreamed for in a husband… and so much more than that. He's… he is _everything_ to me, papa. He is a good man, the best I have ever known. I love him, I love him very much… and he loves me back. So yes, I am very happy."

When she is finished talking, Belle finds herself rather breathless once more. She didn't intend to speak so enthusiastically, or for so long for that matter, but the grateful words just kept coming on and on once she started evoking the husband who went from being a stranger to her to becoming the love of her life almost overnight.

Her father nods solemnly, smiling a little at her response. It's the most at ease and delighted she has seen him for a very long time.

"I'm very pleased to hear that, my darling daughter. Although this makes me realize…"

She raises a questioning eyebrow before her father proceeds to speak, having no idea whatsoever where he is going with this. Still, she is momentarily distracted when she hears her husband approaching the great hall. Turning around, she finds him lingering near the doors at the end of the room, clearly not wanting to disturb the conversation she's having with her father.

Belle gestures for him to join her, wanting him to hear whatever her father has to say now that he's talking about the marriage that unites the two of them. When reaching her side, he reaches for her hand with his own. She takes it, entwining their fingers, very much aware that her father notices as much about the exchange as they do themselves.

"It occurred to me that the two of you haven't had a honeymoon yet," her father continues, saying the last thing she expected of him while looking meaningfully at them.

"We… we haven't, no," she replies carefully, the mere idea not having come to her in these demanding times.

"It's true that there is still much to be done to ensure the future comfort and income of our people, but… I'd say that the two of you have definitely earned some time for yourselves."

"What are you saying?!" Belle brings out, not able to believe that he's truly offering them what she thinks he is.

"I would very much prefer it if the two of you didn't actually leave this castle, but I'd say that you two very much deserve to spend some time together, in whatever manner you deem fit."

"We would like that very much, papa," she replies after glancing at Rumplestiltskin, who nods in response to the offer with more enthusiasm than he has ever shown for anything, even before his injury.

"How about until the end of this month?" her father suggests, looking at them with what appears to be a twinkle in his eyes.

"That would be… that would be _amazing_ ," she breathes, barely able to believe their luck. Neither does her husband, nodding yet more eagerly at her side. "That's more than two whole _weeks_!'

"Well, that's settled then," her father concludes in an almost cheerful manner. "Come on, what are the two of you waiting for?"

Rumplestiltskin gleefully squeezes her hand, the pressure reminding her that she isn't in fact dreaming.

"If I can say one last thing, I'd recommend you pay a visit to the kitchens. I'm certain they have saved you some breakfast… and they must have some food to last you for at least a few days."

At the reminder of food, Belle realizes just how hungry she is, her stomach choosing to grumble pointedly at that very moment. She's particularly ravenous after the night she and Rumplestiltskin have had—and she's quite certain that the same is true for her husband. Still, the kitchens are in the opposite direction of the bedroom she wants to return to as quickly as possible, and…

When she looks up at her husband, inspiration suddenly strikes. Their gazes meet and hold in a moment of heat and wordless but perfectly understood communication. Nodding in confirmation to a suggestion neither of them actually said out loud, both mutter a greeting to her father before they each head in a different direction.

She can rein herself in somewhat for as long as she's still in the great hall, but once she's out of her father's sight, she practically sprints towards the kitchens. When she arrives there, she finds to her surprise and delight that several loaves of breads, a few carrots and a bowl of water are already set aside.

One of the kitchen maids nods in confused but unmistakable confirmation when Belle looks questioningly at the gathered food. As soon as the other woman has done so, she picks it all up as quickly as she can, to her relief managing to fit everything in her two arms, if barely so.

It's a challenge not to spill any of the water when she heads back to her chamber, but that doesn't prevent her from moving as quickly as she possibly can. She's practically bouncing with excitement through the halls of the castle, the fact that she gets to spend more than two weeks alone with her husband without any interruptions not having entirely sunk in yet.

But it is doing so, increasingly, and she smiles giddily at the prospect of it, of knowing nothing but her husband and his touch for such a long time, experiencing nothing but pleasure and joy without either of them having any other duties to force them away from one another, out of the room and the bed where they have found such bliss together—bliss she is very, _very_ eager to experience again as quickly as possible.

It takes her far longer than she would like before she is back in her room, although it can barely have been more than a few minutes at the most. Still, Rumplestiltskin isn't there yet, despite the considerably shorter route he has taken. There's no doubt in her mind that just like her after her detour, he's doing his very best to get back to their bedroom as quickly as possible. It's a painful reminder of the price he has paid for the safety of them all.

Belle pulls some bread off of one of the loaves, eating it hurriedly without truly tasting it as she awaits the arrival of her husband. No matter how hungry she was only a short while ago, what she craves now has nothing to do with food at all.

Depositing all of her spoils from the kitchen on the table next to their bed, she forces herself to _breathe_ and wonder what she might do while waiting for Rumplestiltskin to join her. Although she has considered quite a few manners in which she and her husband might go into a situation like this, she never actually thought of what she might do in a situation where she's waiting for him to join her in the bed.

In the end, the decision really isn't difficult at all. Blushing while doing so, Belle strips out of all the clothes she put on with such haste only a short while ago, slipping underneath the blanket while she awaits the return of her husband.

Making herself as comfortable as she can be, her heart beating rapidly and her breathing quick with eager anticipation, she finds that her body is already ready for what's to come. The worn blanket is curiously firm against her skin, making it tingle wherever it is touched by the fabric. Wondering what it might feel like when Rumplestiltskin touches her again makes her giggle happily.

The redness on her cheeks deepens when she becomes aware of the sensations between her legs. The mere _thought_ of her husband has her throbbing with excitement, wetness gathering right where she cleaned herself up only a short while ago.

Luckily, it isn't long before a timid knock on the door announces her husband's arrival.

"Come in!" she exclaims, her voice trembling deliciously.

He does so immediately, his eyes widening when he takes in the sight of her already lying in their bed, her shoulders unmistakably bare. Smiling meaningfully at him, she pulls the blanket off her body, revealing to him that she's wearing nothing whatsoever. She savors the way his gaze flies over her, darkening considerably as he eagerly takes in the sight of her.

"Why don't you join me?" she asks, barely recognizing the sultry sound of her own voice.

He nods almost furiously, but Rumplestiltskin remains rooted to the ground for quite some time, just staring at her. There's no discomfort in being scrutinized this way, however; if anything, she is beyond flattered by the way he looks at her, as if he had never seen anything or anyone more beautiful and tempting.

His smile widens until he is grinning in a way she no longer thought he could, excited and happy and _free_. He removes his clothes faster than she thought he had ever been capable of, let alone now that he has been injured. There's no grace whatsoever in his movements as he impatiently bares himself to the same extent as she just did, but she couldn't care less about that.

Grinning in delight and excitement herself, Belle squeals happily when her husband joins her in their bed, slanting his lips over hers and pulling her into his arms as soon as he is near enough to do so.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Inkfire for the wonderful beta work.

Belle remains sitting like she is for a long time, the sheer wonderfulness that she and her husband just experienced together only slowly, very slowly subsiding to the admittedly high level that is her usual nowadays to begin with.

"That was… that was…"

Rumplestiltskin falters when he looks at her, amazement and satisfaction and love written all over his face. Although he doesn't complete his sentence, she knows exactly what he's talking about.

"I know," she simply whispers in response, smiling broadly at him.

She glances down at them both, her already flushed face coloring further at the sight of their joined bodies where she straddles the man who is now her husband in all senses of the word, his softening length still buried snugly inside of her.

"Did I… are you all right, sweetheart?" he asks, looking at her with mild concern. "I didn't… I was as careful as I could, but I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"You didn't hurt me at all," she reassures him, still marveling at the fact that there was no pain, nor even a hint of discomfort in their first true coupling, despite what little she knew on the subject. "In fact, I've never felt better than I do right now."

"Neither have I," he whispers, his smile returning to his face when he rests his forehead against hers. "I love you so, _so_ much, Belle."

"I love you, too," she sighs, shivering pleasantly at the wonderfulness of all this, of the joy of finally truly being his wife. "So very much."

It's the final discovery, she supposes, that she and Rumplestiltskin have made together, the very last step in the journey of becoming husband and wife. Tarnished by neither his bad leg nor their inexperience, nor any of the horrors she heard whispers of when growing up, it turns out that the marital bed she has been dreading for the greater part of her existence brought her nothing but joy and pleasure now that she has shared it with the love of her life.

"Is your leg all right?" she asks gently, recalling that she isn't the only one who could potentially have gotten hurt during their most recent activities.

"It doesn't hurt at all," he says, sounding as if he had entirely forgotten about his injured leg. "I… I didn't even feel the injury, or even think about it."

"That's wonderful to hear," she whispers, thrilled that this experience really seems to have been as good for him as it was for her.

"All of that thanks to yet another miracle that my incredible wife achieved," he murmurs lovingly, pressing a tender kiss against her lips before he also glances meaningfully down between their bodies.

"I just suggested what felt the most right," she says, yet more glad than before that she suggested they consummate their marriage in quite a different way from the few things she had been aware of throughout the years.

In fact, all of it has been much easier than she expected, even after having already found so much pleasure rather than pain with her husband. Indeed, it really was quite a small if enjoyable step to go from sitting on his lap, kissing until both of them were breathless, to… well. In the end, one silent but knowing and very eager nod between them was all it took to have his fingers followed by… _more_.

So here Belle is, a maiden no more, and she couldn't be happier. Neither could her husband, by the sight of it, as he embraces her lovingly while pressing lingering kisses to the side of her neck.

No matter how wonderful it all is and how much she would like to remain sitting like that for a very long time, with Rumplestiltskin still anchored within her, the chilly air against her bare back and shoulders leaves her shivering.

"Let's get under the blankets," he says softly, aware that she's getting cold almost as soon as she is herself.

She nods in agreement, reluctantly and slightly awkwardly shifting off his lap. She winces a little at the unfamiliar feeling of breaking the physical connection between them as she sits down next to him, feeling messier than ever before. Rumplestiltskin presses a towel between her legs, tenderly cleaning her up, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time—as intent on any sign of discomfort from her as he always is, even now that they have established that there's nothing but joy to be found in their union.

"Thank you," she says, smiling at him when she pulls the blanket to her chin, cuddling against her husband as he remains sitting against the pillow placed against the wall behind their bed.

As he discards the towel, he takes the glass of water from the small table next to their bed and offers it to her next. She gratefully takes a few sips, only then realizing how thirsty their activities have left her. When she has drunk half of the water, she hands the cup to Rumplestiltskin, who gulps down the other half before putting it back on the table.

Their sweat rapidly drying on their skin, he gets under the covers as well. It has already become second nature for her to assist her husband's movements, ensuring that he doesn't hurt his leg or have to exert it needlessly when settling himself on his back. Or at least, that is what she thinks he's going to do.

But then Belle lies down on her back herself, as close to her husband as she can be, he carefully shifts onto his side instead, moving downwards until he can rest his face on her belly.

"Do you… do you think we might have a child, sweetheart?" comes his voice from beneath the blanket.

"I… I don't know," she says, pulling the fabric over her head so she can see him in the shadow, the fire in the hearth still bright enough for its light to reach partially through the old blanket. "I hadn't thought about it until now. Being with you like this, feeling the way you made me feel… it is like a miracle already. It didn't occur to me that it might not end there."

"I didn't think of it either, until now," he says, pressing his lips against her stomach with a tenderness that almost brings tears to her eyes. "Like you said, all of this is so wonderful already. To have a child as well… I don't even know if a person _can_ be that happy."

"Maybe people can be that happy, if only because they have endured great sorrow as well," she muses, thinking of the war, of her late mother, of his slow recovery. "I don't know. But now that you ask… like I told you before, I sometimes bleed again. I suppose I could… we might have just made a child."

Any reluctance she may have felt—if only because she has thought of nothing but her husband and her desire for him since he began to reciprocate her feelings once more—is gone when he looks up at her, carefully scooting back up the mattress to come face to face with her again. After all, they are in this together, they are in _love_ and if the wide smile on his face is any indication, he isn't shocked by the possible prospect of fatherhood at all.

"Do you remember when we talked about this? About having children?"

Belle nods in confirmation, remembering it very well. It might as well have taken place a lifetime ago, when they didn't know each other nearly as well as they do now and hadn't gone through nearly as much together, but she recalls what he said back then as if he had done so yesterday.

"I said that I would cherish any children we might have. That hasn't changed, Belle, not at all. If anything, I'm looking forward to having children with you yet more than I did back then."

"I feel the same way," she says, returning his smile. "I haven't thought about having children at all since our engagement, but now that we're together like this… I _want_ to have children with you, Rumplestiltskin, and not only because we are expected to have heirs soon. I would want us to have children even if it wasn't expected of us at all."

"So would I," he says, the look on his face implying that he's already imagining the two of them surrounded by at least three children.

"But I must tell you, right now there's no way of knowing… I have no idea whether we actually conceived. I'm not bleeding regularly yet, and there's always the chance that we can't conceive children or…"

He hushes her softly, stroking soothing and ever so tentative fingertips along her cheek.

"I know, sweetheart, I know. We might have children, or we might not. Like I said before, I'll cherish any children we might have, I'll love them. But if we don't… spending the rest of my life with you is more wonderful a prospect in its own right than I can imagine."

"I feel the same way," she breathes, tears welling in her eyes at his passionate declaration. "I just _know_ that it will be wonderful to have children with you, no matter how many we might have. But if we don't… every single day that I get to be with you is a blessing, Rumplestiltskin."

She happily nuzzles her husband's hand when he wipes her tears away, caressing her cheeks and pressing his lips against her forehead for a lingering kiss while he's at it.

"I love you, Belle," he whispers, lying down at her side. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," she mutters, snuggling against his side and resting her head on his chest to listen to the firm and regular beat of his heart. "More than I can ever tell you."

He hums in agreement, wrapping a protective arm around her. As always, she savors his touch, as much as the fact that her love and desire for him is once more reciprocated… and that they can finally both give in to and explore those feelings.

"I can't believe we have two entire weeks of doing nothing but this," she muses, shivering pleasantly at the mere prospect.

"Me neither," he replies, his voice taking on that husky quality she enjoys hearing so very, very much.

She lets out a quiet moan as it fully dawns on her for the first time that, after all the difficulties they've had, they get two more weeks to do nothing but enjoy each other and the pleasure which is becoming easier and easier to find together.

Fourteen whole days of nothing and no one but the two of them and the bed they're already in, kissing and touching and making love, as often as they want and with for once no other care in the world whatsoever.

"And it's not as if we had to stop doing this after those two weeks are over," she adds, quite certain that they'll spend all of their nights for considerable time to come exactly like they did tonight, entwined in the bliss of each other. "I suppose we'll only have to learn to behave ourselves during the day, though."

"I can't think of that just yet," he whispers warmly into her ear, "because all I can think of is _you_ , and touching you, and I can't imagine that to be otherwise."

"Who knows, I might ask you to make love to me so often that you'll get tired of it," she teases, wriggling meaningfully against him even as tiredness sneaks up on her without warning.

" _Never_ ," he all but growls against her still slick skin, much to her delight. "If I wasn't exhausted, I'd want to make love to you again right now."

"Let me make certain that you get some rest then."

"I could… I can touch you, Belle. I _will_ , if you'd like me to," he says, trailing his fingers suggestively up her thigh as a hint of insecurity creeps into his voice.

"I'm exhausted too, you impossible man," she sighs contently. "I'd love to be touched by you again and to touch you as well, to make love again… after I've slept for a while. After we both have."

He hums in agreement to this, burying his face against his shoulder.

"I must admit that I'm glad you want to rest first as well, sweetheart," he mutters against her skin.

"You know that I don't want to do anything that you don't also want, don't you?" she asks quietly, vividly reminded that her husband hasn't lost all his self-consciousness regarding his age and injuries.

"I know that," he sighs affectionately, already sounding entirely at ease once more. "And I know that you will remind me in case I forget—again. My wonderful wife."

"My wonderful husband," she murmurs, lifting herself slightly off the mattress despite her tiredness so she can kiss him again, their lips meeting for a few seconds in a sweet, chaste touch.

"Let's go to sleep," he says then.

"Yes, let's go to sleep," she concurs. "Hold me?"

"Of course," he replies, not needing any more explanations to hold her in exactly the way she most prefers.

She rolls onto her side and he does the same, pressing his front against her back as tightly as is comfortable. His arm immediately finds the spot both of them prefer as well, the back of his fingers lightly brushing the swell of her breast.

Belle sighs happily, gratefully closing her eyes as she savors the warmth of her husband and the lives they are shaping for themselves. His breath whispers against her neck, yet another delightful reminder of his nearness, especially when he maneuvers his good leg between her own as well.

"Goodnight, Rumplestiltskin," she whispers.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he replies, the words little more than a low purr against her neck.

Covering his hand on her torso with her own, Belle can all but see their future behind her closed eyes. It's a perfect continuation of the past few days, bright and happy and beautiful.


End file.
